For the first two days after moving into Liu Changxi’s home, Nie Jiuluo spent most of her time sleeping. By the third day, her sleep schedule began to normalize, and life gradually became boring.
After all, she could only lie down most of the time, and Liu Changxi’s home offered little entertainment—they had specially moved a TV into her room, but she never liked watching TV anyway, and after flipping through all the channels, there was nothing worth watching.
She wanted to use her phone, but her own was probably destroyed at the pump house—most likely disposed of by Yan Tuo. She couldn’t monopolize Liu Changxi’s phone either, which was an old model anyway.
She wanted to read, but Liu Changxi wasn’t much of a reader. After searching the entire house, they found her a copy of “The Small Restaurant Owner’s Guide to Super Profits.” After two pages, she decided that dining out was enough for this lifetime—there was no need to learn about management.
As for conversation, she couldn’t connect with Auntie, who was quite chatty and could go on endlessly about her neighbor’s sister-in-law’s marriage stories. Nie Jiuluo was naturally lacking in curiosity—how could she maintain interest in the romantic history of someone so distantly connected?
Therefore, whenever Auntie showed signs of launching into a story, she would half-close her eyes and affect an exhausted expression, playing the role of someone too weak to do anything but rest. Auntie, being observant, would usually stop immediately and tiptoe out of the room, leaving her alone to “recuperate” in peace.
During this time, she had called Yan Tuo once, initially wanting to ask about what happened after the pump house incident—though she could guess some of it, he would know more details. For instance, while she had escaped safely, what about Chen Fu and Han Guan? Where had they gone?
Unfortunately, the timing of her call was poor. When she called around eleven, he was actually “tracking Di Xiao”—and not just one, but “several” of them. Nie Jiuluo only spoke briefly before hanging up: she could empathize—when she had been in a tense situation herself, she hadn’t been in any mood to take calls either.
But waiting for Yan Tuo’s safety confirmation took a long time. Having nearly died at Di Xiao’s hands recently, she knew how formidable they were. The longer the wait, the more worried she became, her mind conjuring images of Yan Tuo’s death: throat slit, shot, bitten, torn apart, buried.
Finally, when she received the message “I’m back safely,” she let out a long sigh of relief. Her body gave out, and she fell into deep sleep again. As she drifted off, a wave of guilt passed through her mind: Yan Tuo was perfectly alive, yet in her imagination, he had died in eighty different ways.
This sleep lasted until the next afternoon.
The phone by her pillow was gone, probably taken by Liu Changxi, and several items had appeared in its place, presumably for her entertainment.
A deck of cards—was this meant to mock her? How was she supposed to play cards by herself?
A board game about a hero escaping from a demon’s lair—though meant for two players, she could barely entertain herself with it. It was a knockoff, copying someone else’s design with made-up plot elements.
And two small fabric sandbags.
All were old-fashioned entertainments, fitting Liu Changxi’s age and personality.
The sun was at its brightest, just before beginning to fade. Nie Jiuluo lay in bed, watching the window screens gleam in the light for a while, then sighed softly before tapping the headboard to call Auntie.
She was about to endure another day of difficult washing up and boredom.
***
After washing up, Nie Jiuluo drank half a bowl of bone broth and ate two pieces of steamed taro. When Auntie came to clear the dishes, she excused herself, saying she had some matters at home to attend to and needed to leave soon. She had already mentioned this to Liu Changxi, so she wouldn’t be able to stay overnight.
That was fine—she didn’t need much at night anyway. Nie Jiuluo nodded hesitantly, though somewhat worried about how she would manage if she needed to use the bathroom.
Auntie seemed to notice her concern: “Miss Nie, either let Old Liu help you to the door, or you can slowly walk while holding onto the wall. Just don’t strain your wound. Even women who’ve just given birth start walking the next day—taking a few steps won’t hurt.”
Fair enough.
After Auntie left, Nie Jiuluo lay in bed tossing the sandbags out of boredom. At one point, she accidentally threw one under the bed, and unable to reach it, she was left with nothing to do but lie there.
Around eight o’clock, Liu Changxi returned.
He was on the phone as he entered, and Nie Jiuluo heard him say, “It’s fine, she’s doing well, Auntie says she’s eating properly now…”
He must be talking about her, probably to Yan Tuo. Nie Jiuluo perked up her ears.
“Yes, Auntie washed her hair yesterday—young ladies like to stay clean.”
“That’s right, you can tell she’s quite bored here. Oh, okay…”
As he spoke, Liu Changxi entered the room. Seeing her awake, he brightened: “Oh, oh, Little Tuo, Miss Nie is awake. Would you like to say a few words?”
Nie Jiuluo naturally raised her hand to take the phone.
Liu Changxi was about to pass it over, then stopped, looking at her awkwardly: “He… he hung up.”
Hung up?
She had wanted to ask him about things.
Besides, how busy could he be? He had time to chat with Liu Changxi at length but couldn’t spare even a moment to greet her.
Nie Jiuluo’s outstretched hand slowly curled back as she smiled understandingly: “He must be busy.”
But inside, she felt unsettled: he hadn’t been like this before when he was desperately trying to get information from her. Now that he had saved her and learned what he wanted to know, was he just going through the motions with her?
After a pause, she asked Liu Changxi: “What else did he say?”
Liu Changxi replied: “Just like the past couple of days, asking how you’re recovering if you’re eating well…”
Nie Jiuluo: “No, I mean when you mentioned I was bored here, what did he say?”
“Oh, that,” Liu Changxi thought for a moment, trying to recall exactly: “Little Tuo said, ‘We’re all adults, she’ll learn to cope with boredom.'”
Nie Jiuluo: “…”
The logic wasn’t wrong, but hearing it felt somehow unpleasant.
She made a noncommittal sound and said: “Well, I’m going to sleep.”
***
Though she said she would sleep, she had slept too much during the day to fall asleep right away.
Nie Jiuluo thought about Jiang Baichuan and Xing Shen’s situation, figuring they must be in dire straits, but what could she do? She had barely saved her own life and was in no position to help.
After some time lost in these scattered thoughts, she heard the door outside open, followed by Liu Changxi’s surprised and delighted voice: “Why are you here?”
Who could it be?
She heard a familiar voice: “It’s been a few days since I brought her here, thought I’d check on her.”
Yan Tuo? If he was arriving at this hour, had he been on the highway when he called earlier?
Liu Changxi: “You’re too late then, she went to bed early tonight.”
Yan Tuo: “That’s fine, I won’t leave tonight—it’s too late anyway.”
A moment later, the bedroom door opened. The movement was so gentle she couldn’t even hear the hinges, only seeing the living room light gradually seeping in. Nie Jiuluo wasn’t sure why, but she instinctively turned inward and closed her eyes.
Liu Changxi’s voice was very low: “See? She’s asleep.”
Yan Tuo didn’t respond, but after a moment, he walked in and stopped by the bed.
What was this about? Nie Jiuluo thought she was doing a perfect job of feigning sleep, even keeping her hand resting on the bed completely still—how could he tell?
After a pause, Yan Tuo said: “She’s not asleep.”
Nie Jiuluo sighed internally and had to turn over, reluctantly lying flat and giving Yan Tuo a sidelong glance.
Yan Tuo looked down at her. The room was dark, but light from outside illuminated one side of his body, the contrast between light and shadow making his figure particularly imposing and present.
Nie Jiuluo’s expression remained neutral as she said: “You’re too noisy.”
***
The room light was turned back on.
Liu Changxi was the busiest, bringing in tea and peeled apples. Yan Tuo pulled up a chair to sit by the bed, placing a paper bag by his feet: “Uncle Changxi, don’t trouble yourself, I’d like to talk with Miss Nie for a while.”
Liu Changxi nodded repeatedly, lingered for a moment, then suddenly realized this “talk” didn’t include him and quickly retreated, closing the door behind him.
With Liu Changxi gone, the room fell silent. Nie Jiuluo lay in bed, eyes downcast, saying nothing: in the short term, she hadn’t quite adjusted to the change in her relationship with Yan Tuo—before, she had been somewhat arrogant and commanding. Now that he had saved her life, maintaining that attitude would show a lack of self-awareness.
But immediately showing profound gratitude would be too… much.
Also, should she thank him? Should she do it right away? Would that seem too forced?
Yan Tuo hadn’t found a good opening either. He glanced around the room, his gaze falling on the small bed in the corner: “Auntie stays overnight?”
Nie Jiuluo made an affirmative sound.
“I heard from Uncle Changxi that you’re quite bored here?”
Perfect—if they were discussing this, she had something to say.
Nie Jiuluo replied coolly: “When you’re bored, you find ways to cope… we’re all adults… it’s a small matter.”
Yan Tuo said: “I bought some things to help pass the time on my way here, but it seems they’re not needed?”
What things? Nie Jiuluo turned her head to look at him.
Yan Tuo leaned down and pulled out a stack of books from the bag.
Nie Jiuluo had wanted to maintain her composure a bit longer, to find an excuse about reading being too strenuous, but when her eyes fell on the book spines, she couldn’t look away.
“Practical Sculpture Techniques,” “Elements of Sculpture,” “Folk Clay Modeling,” “Sculptor’s Handbook”…
She couldn’t help but smile.
Yan Tuo had seen her smile often, but those had always been social smiles, each containing some meaning—whether to enlighten, mock, or threaten. He had never seen her smile so beautifully.
Perhaps the most genuine smiles are the most moving; all others, no matter how refined or appropriate, are merely expressions on the surface.
Nie Jiuluo reached out and pointed to two of the books: “I have these too.”
Yan Tuo said: “I figured since you’re bored anyway, it might be good to improve your professional skills, not waste the time. I looked through them—lots of pictures, shouldn’t strain your eyes too much.”
Nie Jiuluo nodded, watching him stack the books by the headboard, then asked: “Did you clean up the pump house?”
“Yes.”
“Did you… find my knife?”
Yan Tuo looked up at her meaningfully: “The Mad Knife?”
Nie Jiuluo met his gaze, and after a moment said: “I want to sit up to talk.”
He was sitting while she was lying down—uncomfortable, and having to look up at him gave her a sense of being at a disadvantage.
Yan Tuo: “You can sit up now?”
“Yes.”
“Will it hurt?”
“Not if I’m careful.”
Yan Tuo nodded, stood up, and moved closer to the bed, then bent down, sliding one hand under the blanket until he touched her waist: “Lift up a bit.”
Nie Jiuluo exhaled softly, raising herself slightly. After a moment’s hesitation, she wrapped her right arm around Yan Tuo’s neck. His hand reached around to hold her other side, his tense arm supporting her lower back as he slowly applied force while leaning back, simultaneously pulling over a nearby pillow to place behind her.
Considering her injuries, Yan Tuo had tried to be as gentle as possible, but Nie Jiuluo still felt pain. She gasped sharply midway through and lowered her head, pressing it against the hollow of his neck.
Yan Tuo immediately stopped moving. As he looked down, his chin touched the top of her head, and a few loose strands of her hair, stirred by her slightly damp breaths, brushed against his neck—light, warm, and ticklish.
After a moment, she said: “I’m good.”
Yan Tuo collected himself, secured the pillow, then released his hold and sat back in his chair.
Nie Jiuluo recovered and adjusted her blanket, then said: “Yes, the Mad Knife. Is the knife… still there?”
“Yes, and your phone too. I’ll bring them to you later. Also, before your phone died, I replied to a few urgent messages for you. Since you needed to ‘disappear’ for a while, I thought it better to let people know. Otherwise, if your friends or family reported you missing and started searching, it could get complicated.”
That seemed reasonable. Nie Jiuluo asked: “Who were they?”
“Someone called Sister Lu, asking when you’d return. I told her you’d be away doing field research for a while.”
That was fine. Nie Jiuluo asked: “Who else?”
“Someone called Old Cai, asking when you’d arrange a blind date, saying the other party had asked several times.”
Blind date? It took Nie Jiuluo a while to remember what this was about. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a blind date—it was just an arrangement Old Cai had made for her to meet someone who admired her work…
Never mind, this wasn’t worth explaining. Nie Jiuluo made a noncommittal sound.
“I replied saying you had urgent matters and would be away for a while, and would contact him after things settled down,” he continued, looking at Nie Jiuluo, “I hope my response didn’t interfere with your… important matters? Old Cai asked about adding you as a friend, which I declined since that would require chatting, and I… couldn’t manage that. I figured if it’s meant for you, waiting a few days wouldn’t matter. And if it can’t wait a few days, it’s probably not worth meeting anyway, right?”