After the blood transfusion, it was already late. Everyone said their goodbyes and went their separate ways.

Though the transfusion was done, Yue Feather’s face remained slightly pale, his steps unsteady. Actually, it wasn’t a major artery that had been cut—otherwise, surgery would’ve been needed, not just a simple reattachment. His weakness came from poor nutrition and lack of exercise. He rarely even ate his fill.

Silver Bell supported him, her soft, budding chest brushing lightly against his arm. His cheeks flushed with a hint of color.

“I can… walk myself…” Yue Feather mumbled, embarrassed.

“It’s fine. I’ll help you.”

“Th-thank you… for today…”

“It’s what I should do,” Silver Bell replied matter-of-factly, moving him deeply again. He wondered silently: why did such a kind-hearted girl exist? She was like pure, unblemished jade, untouched by even a trace of dust.

*Gurgle.* A strange sound came from Yue Feather’s stomach. He blushed slightly, clapping a hand over his belly, pretending nothing happened. But Silver Bell heard it clearly. A slight smile curled her lips. “Hungry? Let’s go home and cook.”

“Ah… yeah…”

Back home, Yue Feather struggled to hunch over his homework. Silver Bell bustled in the kitchen like the mother he remembered. Soon, the aroma of rice and dishes filled the air. Through the balcony window, Yue Feather saw houses glowing with lights. Distant commercial districts sparkled with colorful bulbs—hazy, blurred orbs weaving a mysterious, beautiful night. This small city wasn’t bustling; it was quiet. Yet he loved it. Before, it was just his parents’ home. Now, another reason: Silver Bell was here.

Though his left arm was injured, his right felt weak too. His handwriting was crooked, messier than his usual chicken scratch. Copying assignments felt especially painful now.

“Ugh… why copy everything? Always ‘copy the whole text’… it’s modern prose!” Yue Feather groaned, flipping pages. It took five or six flips to reach the article’s end. The dense text killed his motivation. He had to do it, though. His Chinese teacher was kind but merciless to slackers. Being punished with a smile was scarier than regular punishment…

“Yue Feather, time to eat!” Silver Bell’s voice cut through his resolve. It vanished instantly.

“Fine… I’ll eat first…” He made an excuse and headed to the living room.

Only two dishes and soup sat on the table—but to Yue Feather, it was a feast.

“Thank you…” he said again.

“Why always thank me?” Silver Bell asked, puzzled.

“Nothing… just… felt like it…” He smiled awkwardly. He wasn’t good with girls. He liked her deeply but wouldn’t admit it—not until he was sure it was love. Even then, he felt unworthy.

“I’ll wash dishes,” he offered after eating, embarrassed at taking without giving.

“No. Finish homework. I’ll handle it.”

“Okay…”

The clinking of dishes calmed him, like his mother was still home. But when *splash* and Silver Bell’s humming came from the bathroom, his mother’s shadow became Silver Bell again. He grew restless. Though he’d seen her nearly naked on day one, a beautiful girl’s grace still tempted a shy boy.

Yue Feather set aside the copying assignment. He’d do thinking-heavy homework first. Before, thinking was troublesome; now, injured, it felt comfortable. Fighting drained energy—especially when hurt mid-fight. Fatigue crept in. His focus faded. Only the bathroom’s *splash* filled his ears, hypnotic. His head nodded like a chick pecking rice. Finally, he collapsed onto the table.

…

Taking a bath soothed body and soul, especially after exhaustion. Even in scorching summer, I preferred hot showers. This body lacked yang energy—unafraid of heat but sensitive to cold. Last night, the electric fan almost froze me awake. Most wouldn’t feel cold in this heat.

Our solar water heater saved electricity. Sunny days meant hot showers; using power was wasteful. Yue Feather’s budget was tight. Every bit saved counted. I might need a part-time job soon. Two people on this little… it’d be tough.

Yue Feather was injured, but the first step succeeded. I breathed easier. I’d worried history couldn’t be changed—that it self-repaired through accidents. Like Silver Bell oversleeping… or getting hit by a car en route. No accident happened now, but future repairs might come. I was still wary, yet relaxed.

Next, the plan: get Yue Feather exercising. Vital. A healthy man—even unattractive—drew girls. Sickly men rarely did, unless stunningly handsome. Yue Feather wasn’t that level.

Long hair was troublesome in showers. Washing it took longer than my body. Afterward, drying was needed—unlike boys’ short hair that air-dried. Hair made me think: should Yue Feather grow his? Future trends favored long-haired boys—Japanese-Korean style. “Pretty boys,” they called them. I sneered at that aesthetic, but defying trends brought trouble. Maybe I should cater?

My fingertips brushed my chest—a sharp twinge. Puberty made breasts sensitive. Sigh. A girl’s body was such a hassle.

Half an hour later, I slipped on a loose shirt and stepped out. Two of Yue Feather’s shirts and his boxer shorts were now mine. Summer meant no drying worries. I walked to the bedroom, shaking damp hair—even after towel-drying—to grab the hairdryer.

“Huh? This kid’s asleep?” I nudged Yue Feather gently. He snored at the table, using his bandaged hand as a pillow. Didn’t it hurt? He seemed deeply out—probably till morning.

“Better sleep on the mat—” I struggled to lift him. “Drag” fit better. I got him onto the mat. To avoid waking him, I skipped the hairdryer. Its noise was too loud. Today, air-dry. Damp hair weighed heavy—that’s why I usually blew it dry. Stiffness wasn’t my concern.

On the table lay his unfinished homework. Everything done except the Chinese copying. As tedious as ever. I recalled high school days—painful copying—and smiled nostalgically.

“Fine. I’ll finish this for him.” I stared at his crooked scribbles. But… what were these chicken-scratch characters? Where had he stopped?

Was my handwriting really this bad back then? I didn’t remember.

Right—he needed calligraphy practice. I’d started after work. Juggling job and practice wasn’t easy like school days.

I tore out his page and began copying. Nostalgia made it fun at first. By the end, pure boredom.

Indeed, anyone wishing to return to high school surely didn’t crave reliving homework agony.

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