Today was Saturday, and she wasn’t going to school. She walked into the kitchen, where dishes from yesterday were still scattered. She tied on an apron, opened the dishwashing liquid, soaked the dishes, and then planned to cook a pot of porridge.
…
…
Xing Tuo awoke in the silence, a nameless bewilderment deep in his pupils. He instinctively clenched his right hand, but it was empty. In the dim light, he scanned the empty bedroom, an inexplicable fear rising from his heart, slowly spreading to his limbs.
He suddenly sat up from the bed, a heavy dizziness eroding every nerve in his head. He rushed straight out of the bedroom. The living room was empty, with only the lonely window curtain gently lifted by a light breeze.
A faint sound of running water came from the kitchen, and he rushed in.
She stood with her back to him at the sink.
He hugged her tightly from behind.
Xia Qianchi, who was focused on washing dishes, was startled but quickly calmed down.
“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.
“Qianchi…”
His voice was hoarse. The hand at her waist quietly wrapped around her shoulders. His heavy breathing gradually steadied. She was in his arms, but the feeling of regaining her seemed so unreal.
He pressed tightly against her back, his burning body temperature making her heart race. She rinsed her foam-covered hands under the faucet, dried them on her clean apron, and turned to face him. In the bright kitchen light, she carefully examined his face, noticing a barely perceptible flush. She reached out to feel his forehead, and his fever-like skin made her involuntarily cry out: “Goodness! You have a fever! Since when? How did I not notice all night?!”
Xia Qianzi gazed at his exhausted sleeping face and recalled that year at his birthday banquet, when he stood in the brilliantly lit hall of the Xing family, holding a crystal glass, coldly staring at her. His life seemed vast and boundless; he should never have fallen in love with her. Once, she was nothing more than an insignificant older sister to him. If she could start over, she would prefer never to have had any connection with him. If that night, she had been more resolute and refused to transfer schools, perhaps none of what followed would have happened.
And now, all his scars were because of her.
