Yan Lie’s voice and the scenes of the dream kept cutting against each other, until the light and shadow began to shift and Fang Zhuo realized she was dreaming.

She opened her eyes. Everything in her field of vision was a pale white blur — she couldn’t make things out clearly.

Yan Lie cupped her face in both hands, with a small hint of a smile as he soothed her: “Come to the bedroom to sleep. You’ll catch a cold sleeping out here.”

Fang Zhuo sat up in a daze for a few minutes. Yan Lie sat with her in that blankness. Only when the heavy fog of sleep finally lifted did Fang Zhuo stand.

She stepped past Yan Lie, took some clothes from the bedroom closet, and went to the bathroom to shower, carrying with her the drowsy, stifling feeling that lingered.

The sound of continuous water dripped and trickled in the bathroom, followed by the noise of the hair dryer running.

Yan Lie turned off the main light, leaving only the dim amber glow of a small bedside lamp.

Shortly after, Fang Zhuo came out of the bathroom. She had loosely pulled on an oversized sleep shirt, her skin still faintly damp, the exposed parts flushed red from the heat of the shower.

Yan Lie put down his phone and watched her walk in slowly.

Fang Zhuo left absolutely no room for any romantic atmosphere. She bypassed him entirely, went straight to the empty side of the bed, lay down, and pulled the blanket over herself to sleep.

Pressed right up against the edge of the mattress, a good half meter away from Yan Lie.

…He really should have replaced this bed with a wider one.

Yan Lie had a clear-eyed realization: distance did not create beauty. Distance only created frustration.

Fang Zhuo murmured: “Turn off the light. Goodnight.”

Yan Lie turned off the light and lay quietly for a moment, then reached out and poked at the person beside him.

Fang Zhuo, impatient with his pestering, turned her head: “What do you want?”

Yan Lie said: “Your husband’s leg is injured. Could you be a little more proactive?”

Fang Zhuo became slightly more alert. In the darkness, those few syllables sounded somewhat icy and cold: “Your what?”

Yan Lie went silent.

Fang Zhuo, worried she might kick his foot in her sleep, moved a little toward the middle, tucked in the corner of his blanket for him, and said perfunctorily, with little real feeling: “Sleep now. Goodnight.”

Yan Lie racked his brain and came up with a reason, whispering: “Come a bit closer to me — I can help keep the mosquitoes fed…”

No response. From beside him, Fang Zhuo’s steady, even breathing gradually drifted over.

Yan Lie gave up. He carefully lifted the blanket and shifted a little toward her. He silently congratulated himself: “Lucky it’s me.”

The next morning, Fang Zhuo was jolted awake by a dream that felt both real and unreal.

She had a sensation of pressing up against some heat source, with a block of scorched stone weighing down half her body. Not even the cold air from the air conditioner could dispel the stifling warmth.

She squinted and looked to the side — Yan Lie had wrapped both arms around her, his hand still resting on her waist.

Fang Zhuo checked the time and reached over to push him awake.

Yan Lie’s foot injury had, as expected, worsened overnight.

He sat up, his entire face a portrait of suffering. The grumpiness of waking up combined with the intense pain in his leg made the corners of his mouth twitch repeatedly — his expression could only be described as harrowing.

Fang Zhuo examined it and found the swelling and redness at his ankle alarming. Not daring to move it carelessly, she said with concern: “After breakfast, we’re going to the hospital.”

Yan Lie nodded and gave a muffled response, but didn’t move. He yawned, then scratched at his hair, lingering in a haze for quite a while before returning to himself, then got up to go wash.

He leaned on the crutch on one side and used it to take the weight off his injured foot.

This position was manageable enough for brushing teeth, but when it came to washing his face, he had trouble bending down. The design of the sink was too low for him — Yan Lie tried a few times, and the awkward one-handed maneuvering only ended up splashing water all over himself. He finally gave up and set the crutch aside, bending over to splash water on his face.

When he reached for the towel to dry off, he couldn’t stand steadily and his balance swayed, nearly tipping sideways.

Yan Lie quickly jolted — about to lean against the wall — when a pair of hands reached him first, pressing steadily on his shoulders and catching him from behind.

“Be careful.”

Fang Zhuo handed him the crutch, let him get his balance, then took the towel from his hand and wiped his face for him.

Yan Lie no longer felt irritated, no longer felt pain, and bent slightly at the waist to make things easier for her.

When Fang Zhuo was about to pull her hand back, he found something else to request, directing her: “Get that side too.”

Fang Zhuo glanced at him and carefully wiped the spot again.

Yan Lie turned his face the other way: “Behind the ear too.”

Then tilted his head back: “And under the chin.”

Fang Zhuo obliged patiently, though her expression grew increasingly vacant.

Had this person never washed his face for so long in his entire life before?

Seeing he was about to push his luck further, Fang Zhuo refolded the towel inside out, and with a coolly measured tone asked: “Should I just give you a bath while I’m at it?”

Yan Lie suppressed his laughter and said: “If you insist, that would of course be acceptable.”

An injured person has a remarkably easy time getting away with anything.

Fang Zhuo rinsed the towel and hung it up, and stopped indulging his nonsense. She called a car to take him to the hospital.

Sitting in front of the doctor, Yan Lie finally behaved himself — perched on the chair looking like a model patient.

The doctor examined the injury, set his foot down, then looked up and let her gaze sweep between the two of them. She asked, with practiced professionalism: “How did this happen?”

Fang Zhuo’s shoulders shook with suppressed laughter. The doctor, who had been filling out the case record, glanced curiously over at her.

The corner of Yan Lie’s eye twitched. He tugged at Fang Zhuo’s sleeve and gave her a look that said “save me some dignity.”

Fang Zhuo pretended not to see it and made something up: “He was jumping around on the stairs and fell.”

Yan Lie bowed his head in humble acceptance.

Whether the doctor believed it or not, the eyes behind the glasses curved slightly upward. She reached up to adjust her mask a notch higher and offered her assessment: “He’s quite lively.”

Fang Zhuo patted Yan Lie on the head with fond affection and said: “He is — he’s only eight years old, after all.”

The doctor and the nurse couldn’t help laughing.

Yan Lie embraced the disgrace with abandon, hugged Fang Zhuo, and asked in a tone of perfect innocence: “So am I in an early romance? Are you going to report me to the authorities?”

The doctor handed them the completed case record. “Guardian, keep a close eye on him. He shouldn’t be letting this touch the ground again. If he can’t keep his foot still, you can rent a wheelchair outside.”

Yan Lie reached out to take it — and the doctor stepped aside, passing it to Fang Zhuo from the side instead, with a smile: “Here. Parent, hold onto that.”

“Of course.” Fang Zhuo accepted it and patted Yan Lie on the shoulder without blinking: “Go ahead and thank the doctor, now.”

Yan Lie found himself inexplicably on the receiving end of this exchange, and even found it somewhat funny. He kept his face straight and reminded her: “Fang Zhuo, I will be back on my feet very soon.”

Fang Zhuo said: “I sincerely wish you well.”

Fang Zhuo thanked the doctor with a small bow, then led him out.

After lunch, Yan Lie appeared to have come to a conclusion. Once they were out the door, he called cheerfully: “Guardian — can you pick me up and drop me off for class this afternoon?”

Fang Zhuo had already been planning to take him anyway, since she had nothing on that afternoon. But hearing him bring it up himself, she couldn’t help asking back: “Why?”

Yan Lie said matter-of-factly: “Because you’re my guardian.”

Fang Zhuo asked in astonishment: “Is riding on the back of a stick your core curriculum in the computer science department?”

“That’s mostly a question of natural talent — you exercise strong autonomy over it,” Yan Lie said cheerfully, leaning into her side with shameless ease. “I don’t care. You chose to be my guardian.”

Fang Zhuo took Yan Lie to the classroom anyway.

Not wanting to be late, she arrived on the earlier side. Once Yan Lie was seated, she left.

A few minutes later, the bell rang once. The professor and students began trickling in. It rang a second time before class officially started.

Fewer fourth-year students were attending class than usual, and Yan Lie was sitting right in the middle, with the most open vantage point in the room.

While waiting for the computer to boot up, the professor scanned the classroom, noticed the crutch beside Yan Lie, and asked: “Yan Lie, what happened to your foot?”

Yan Lie found it difficult to give the real answer — the truth would require explanation, and didn’t exactly make him sound brilliant. He simply borrowed Fang Zhuo’s earlier excuse: “I was jumping around on the stairs and twisted it.”

The professor was taken aback. He mulled over it for a moment, couldn’t find the right response, and was just about to sum it up with the grown-up’s version of “lively” when a male student nearby squeezed out a pointed falsetto: “Naughty boy.”

The voice was thin, reedy, and carrying — it set the whole classroom off in uproarious laughter.

Another roommate chimed in behind: “A prickly little rose.”

Wave after wave of noise, and the professor was laughing so hard on the podium he couldn’t contain himself.

Yan Lie gave up fighting it. He sat up properly and said with an expression of quiet self-satisfaction: “Though I’m currently not very mobile, I do have a guardian.”

The professor didn’t follow. The students below had already called out: “Oh, having a girlfriend is really something, is it?!”

The professor caught on and nodded, pointing at him: “So having someone in your corner really does give you nerve — you see that, everyone?”

Two class periods later, Fang Zhuo arrived on time to collect him. The bell had just rung, but the professor had one last small point left to cover.

She walked past the front entrance, and Yan Lie spotted her with sharp eyes, raising his hand to wave.

The professor, who had been watching him, caught the motion and turned — giving Fang Zhuo a wave of his own.

Fang Zhuo, bewildered, found herself unexpectedly facing the professor, and blinked at him in confusion.

The professor said with a smile: “Oh, the guardian’s here. Let me finish this problem, then I’ll let everyone out. Just a moment.”

Fang Zhuo was half-laughing, half-exasperated. She gave the professor a small bow and stepped back behind the wall, out of the line of sight.

The professor sped through his remaining explanation in about a minute and announced class dismissed.

Students didn’t scatter immediately — some gathered around the professor with questions, while a few lingered near Yan Lie to watch the fun.

When Fang Zhuo went in to get him, she had the persistent sensation of eyes on her back. She rolled her neck uncomfortably and asked: “What exactly did you tell them all?”

“I…” Yan Lie started to feel a touch of guilt, then let his eyes slide sideways and adopted a certain confident tone: “I set the record straight. What’s wrong with that?”

Fang Zhuo: “What can I even…”

He picked up Fang Zhuo’s bag and swung it over his own shoulder. Not daring to fight him for it, she only told him to be careful and not end up adding more injury to the occasion.

Yan Lie said solemnly: “You had better get used to it early, Yan family member — after all, Yan Lie is not young anymore.”

Fang Zhuo was about to say something and then stopped, outmaneuvered by him entirely. They arrived at the staircase, and she reached out to steady Yan Lie.

Yan Lie made his way haltingly down the steps, paused midway, and suddenly asked: “What shall we eat tonight?”

Fang Zhuo asked lazily: “Is there a hidden price attached to that question?”

“No hidden price,” Yan Lie said, hooking his hand around hers. “I’m simply buttering you up.”

“Oh,” Fang Zhuo drew out the syllable. “What a shame — I was actually hoping you’d threaten me a little.”

Yan Lie said: “I don’t mind.”

By the time they reached the bottom of the stairs, Yan Lie had already made up his mind. He held Fang Zhuo’s hand firmly and said softly: “Let’s go home. We can buy groceries on the way, or order delivery. I just want to get home sooner.”

Fang Zhuo looked in the direction where the sun was slipping lower, watching the layer of clouds soaked in colored light. In a brief moment of daze, she felt that even just hearing the words “let’s go home” was somehow rather warm.