The moment the cotton swab pressed down, the knuckles Xu Anran had resting on the edge of the table curled involuntarily.
Shen Yuan immediately stopped, lifting the swab half an inch higher.
“Does it hurt?”
Xu Anran stared at the crown of her head, his voice low and heavy. “It doesn’t hurt.”
Shen Yuan didn’t look up, nor did she call out the taut muscles in his forearm. She silently swapped in a fresh cotton swab, her movements even gentler.
“Bear with it. Almost done.”
Xu Anran watched her with lowered eyes.
She sat across from him, her hair falling forward as she bowed her head, obscuring half her face.
The living room light wasn’t particularly bright, yet it illuminated the exhaustion on her face all too clearly.
Earlier today, she’d been cornered by several people in the alley. The old Shen Yuan would have long since burst into tears and hidden behind him. Afterward, she would have used it as leverage to threaten and accuse him, kicking up a storm.
But the woman before him now had no tears, no hysterics—not even a single complaint.
She simply sat before him in silence, head bowed, carefully cleaning the blood and grime from the back of his hand.
That stillness, dead as still water, was like a ball of soaked cotton—heavy and suffocating, lodged in Xu Anran’s chest until even breathing felt strained.
“Shen Yuan.” His voice cut through the silence.
“Hm?” She didn’t look up, carefully tearing open the gauze packaging.
“Why didn’t you ask me for anything?”
The soft rustle of the packaging stopped.
Shen Yuan raised her eyes, her gaze clear and untainted. “Ask you for what?”
Xu Anran stared straight into her eyes, his jaw tight. “Money. Help. Or something else.”
Anything at all.
As long as she asked.
But Shen Yuan simply lowered her gaze again, pressing the pristine white gauze over the battered back of his hand.
“Because that’s not something you should have to bear.”
Xu Anran let out a short, cold laugh, a sharp edge creeping into his voice—one he didn’t even notice himself. “That’s not what you used to think.”
“Then I was wrong before.”
There it was again.
Xu Anran had heard those words too many times over the past few days.
But every time, they still stabbed at his chest.
“Does being wrong just wipe the slate clean?” He stared at her, his voice dropping low.
Shen Yuan finished taping the gauze in place and finally looked up.
“No.” Her answer came without hesitation. “So I’ll pay it back.”
“And if you can’t pay it all back?”
Shen Yuan’s long lashes lowered, her gaze settling on the medicine bottle on the table. “Then I’ll pay it back slowly.”
“Until when?” Xu Anran pressed, step by step.
“Until you no longer find me disgusting.”
The already thin air in the living room seemed to be completely sucked dry in that instant.
Dark currents surged abruptly beneath Xu Anran’s pitch-black eyes.
Shen Yuan seemed to realize she’d spoken too heavily; her fingertips stiffened.
She avoided his gaze, lowering her head to gather the cotton swabs and tape on the table.
“Done.” She stood up. “Get some rest.”
The moment she turned, a warm hand suddenly clamped around her wrist.
Shen Yuan’s entire body went rigid.
Xu Anran wasn’t using force, yet the heat of his palm seeped through her thin sleeve into her skin.
He sat in the chair, looking up at her, the emotions in his eyes so tangled they were almost alarming.
“You think I find you disgusting?”
Shen Yuan didn’t struggle, nor did she turn around. “You have every reason to.”
Xu Anran’s Adam’s apple rolled heavily.
Yes. He did.
She had once used every trick in the book to deceive him, resorted to those laughable tactics to pressure him, squandered his money recklessly, and trampled his pride into the dirt.
He had a thousand reasons to loathe her, even to hate her.
But at this very moment, watching her straight yet fragile back, listening to her calmly take all the blame onto herself in the most composed tone, he felt not a shred of vengeful satisfaction.
Only a restless irritation with nowhere to vent.
“Shen Yuan, can you stop being like this all the time?” His voice was hoarse, carrying a suppressed smolder.
Shen Yuan turned her face, her gaze still utterly unruffled: “Like what?”
Xu Anran looked at her, this impenetrable demeanor of hers, and the words stuck in his throat:
Stop apologizing all the time, stop drawing the lines so clearly, stop acting like a stranger…
In the end, he swallowed them back down.
He took a deep breath and released his grip.
“Forget it.”
The restraint on her wrist vanished, leaving only a faint trace of lingering warmth.
Shen Yuan withdrew her hand and gathered the items in the plastic bag to the corner of the table.
“Leave these here. Remember to change the dressing tomorrow.”
Xu Anran leaned back in his chair, watching her coldly: “You’re not going to take care of it?”
Shen Yuan’s tone was flat: “Didn’t you say you didn’t want me to?”
Xu Anran was momentarily struck speechless.
He pressed his lips together, watching her turn and walk into the kitchen.
Before long, she emerged with a glass in hand and set it on the table in front of him.
The glass held warm water, steam rising gently.
It was his cup, at the temperature he was used to.
“Don’t get your hand wet tonight.”
She left those words behind and turned toward her old sofa.
Xu Anran looked down at the warm water, his fingers instinctively curling.
She was always like this. Saying she wanted to draw boundaries, yet tucking these careless attentions into corners, letting him see them but never grasp them.
Shen Yuan sat down on the sofa, opened the worn ledger, and uncapped the pen.
Tonight’s medicine cost twenty-three yuan and eighty cents.
She wrote under the lamp: [Medicine: 23.8, not to be counted against Xu Anran’s debt.]
The pen paused for a moment, then she forcefully crossed out the line, the nib carving a deep groove into the paper.
Beside it, she rewrote: [Medicine for wound care, borne by myself.]
Xu Anran sat at the dining table, watching her from a few steps away.
The dim lamplight fell across her thin shoulders.
She sat very straight, her fingers pressing hard against the edge of the notebook, the tips pale with an unnatural whiteness.
He watched for a long time in silence.
The warm water gradually cooled in the air, and he never asked the question.
…
Meanwhile, a black sedan sat in the darkness downstairs.
Chen Lu was in the driver’s seat, the window rolled down a crack.
She held up her phone, the lens aimed at the second-floor window where the curtain wasn’t fully drawn.
The screen zoomed in, and though the two figures—one standing, one sitting—were blurry, it was clear enough to make out Shen Yuan bent over, holding Xu Anran’s hand.
Chen Lu stared at the screen, her fingers clenching suddenly.
She opened her photo album and sent the picture to an unlabeled number.
[They’re still living together. Shen Yuan seems to have really changed.]
The car was dead silent, only the cold glow of the phone screen casting light on her face.
After a long wait, there was no reply.
Chen Lu gritted her teeth and typed impatiently: [Didn’t you tell me to keep an eye on Xu Anran? What do we do now?]
A few more minutes passed before her phone finally vibrated.
The other party replied with just three words: 【Keep watching.】
Chen Lu stared at the dismissive response, a flicker of irritation passing through her eyes.
She typed: 【What about the money?】
A few seconds later, a transfer notification popped up.
Five thousand yuan.
Chen Lu accepted it, the cold glow of the screen reflecting the slight upward curve of her lips.
She lifted her head and, through the car window, looked up at the dim yellow light above.
“Shen Yuan, don’t blame me.”
She murmured softly, her voice dissolving into the cold night wind. “It’s your fault for not playing along.”