Dawn’s light parted the thin mist, carrying the sweet scent of damp earth.

Qi Yan carried the drying rack from the doorway to the courtyard, spreading clothes under the sun. From Room 102 dashed two children in school uniforms—cartoon backpacks strapped tight, red scarves tied neatly, Young Pioneer badges pinned to their left sleeves.

The boy sprinted toward the gate, fleet-footed. The girl trailed behind, scurrying on tiny steps. “Cousin! Wait for me…”

*Are they cousins? But growing up under one roof… maybe closer than blood siblings…*

Qi Yan watched, amused. *Did Ran and I look like this when we left this yard?*

The uneven path was littered with pebbles. Distracted by chasing her cousin, the girl tripped.

She stumbled—skinned palms, a stained uniform, a ruined day looming.

Qi Yan caught her arm instinctively. “Watch your step,” he said, voice warm with elder-like concern.

The girl shrank back half a step, eyes downcast. “Th-thank you,” she whispered to this stranger.

“Ah-Yue! Hurry up! We’ll miss morning reading!” the boy yelled.

“Coming, cousin!” She darted toward the gate.

“Ugh, Ah-Yue! You’re so weak—even flat ground trips you!”

“I can’t help it! You run too fast!”

“Heh. My right hand’s Black Dragon Flame awakened. That’s why I’m swift.” He raised his fist, grinning wickedly.

“But speed comes from legs, not hands! Grandpa says you just eat more and have longer legs!”

“Tch. You wouldn’t understand…” His frustrated sigh faded as they vanished down the street.

An old man emerged from Room 102, bamboo basket slung over his hunched back. Silver temples, deep wrinkles—he must be the children’s grandfather, though he looked far older than he should. He gave Qi Yan a slight nod; Qi Yan bowed back. The old man locked his door and shuffled away.

A woman in a black office skirt and rumpled white blouse passed Qi Yan. The sharp reek of alcohol clung to her crimson wavy hair. Her blouse buttons were mismatched, revealing a glimpse of black lace bra beneath the gap. She clutched a bag of fried dough sticks and soy milk, swaying unsteadily.

At Room 103’s door, she fumbled in her pink handbag for keys. Minutes later, the door slammed shut behind her. Silence followed.

*Working night shift at a KTV?* The alcohol, disheveled clothes, unsteady steps—all painted a suggestive picture.

But Qi Yan judged no one. After his parents’ accident, he knew how brutally hard survival could be.

He’d exchanged glances with all his neighbors now. Even silent ones.

“Well then…” Qi Yan stretched toward the sun. “Time to make breakfast.”

His shoulders and spine ached—a souvenir from last night’s floor-sleeping.

By eight o’clock, breakfast was done. Qi Yan dialed Su Xueqing.

*Beep-beep-beep… “The number you dialed is busy. Please try later.”*

“Still won’t answer…” He lowered the phone, deflated. He just wanted to repay her for the toilet chair.

A text buzzed in:

*[Mr. Qi Yan, my oversight—I should’ve specified: no personal calls during work hours. Strictly 6:30-7:00 PM or 9:00-10:00 PM for consultations. For Qi Ran’s medical updates, call the office. For toilet chair pricing—do not waste our time. Reminder: leg massages and phonetic drills (initials/finals) are mandatory. Do not reply. Phone off.]*

“Ah… she saw right through me.” Qi Yan thumped his forehead. *I forgot the massage and drills. Even after washing her feet last night…*

*Was it because…? No. Ran’s pure. Just a natural reaction. Like my morning… tent.* He shook his head. *Rehab can’t wait.*

“Ran… I missed yesterday’s leg massage. Let me do it now.”

She nodded.

Last night, just rubbing her feet had drawn that subtle reaction—unlike during regular foot-washes. The only difference? Her bare skin beneath the nightgown. *Could she always feel this way, hidden by clothes? No… impossible.*

Qi Yan turned her gently onto her stomach, back facing him. *Massage after washing is ideal—pores open, muscles relaxed. But now… with her in that thin dress…*

He warmed his hands. “Starting now.”

He pressed acupressure points on her calves. Rotated her knees left, then right—twenty circles each. Kneaded her calves, lifted her feet, flexed her ankles. Sweat beaded on his brow; Qi Ran bit her lip, cheeks flushed.

Qi Yan grabbed the phonetic cards. “Initials next. Repeat after me: *a, o, e, i…*” He sank onto the bed beside her, shoulder to shoulder.

Qi Ran shaped the sounds silently. Her throat moved. No voice came.

*…Sigh.*

*Still no progress.* He’d dreamed she’d heal overnight after discharge. Just a dream.

He pulled out the finals card. “*b, p…*”

Qi Ran wasn’t repeating. Her shoulders trembled. Tears welled in her eyes.

*My sigh… she heard it.*

*Scritch-scratch—*

Her pen flew across a notebook page:

*[Brother, I’m sorry. I’m such a burden. Everyone would be better off without me.]*

Qi Yan ripped the page out, crumpled it, and threw it behind him. He gripped her shoulders. “Never say that! *You* can’t give up on yourself. No matter what happens—I’ll never abandon you. Even when we’re old, I’ll cook for you, wash your hair, massage your legs, drill phonetics with you. Just… don’t mind this old man, okay? Haha…”

*[Why are you so kind? Everyone else wishes this cripple would just die.]*

“Because I’m your brother.”

No grand reason. Just this simple truth.

“Even if the whole world—and God Himself—gives up on you… I’ll hide you in my heart forever. So *you* can’t give up either. Live. And never… *ever* do anything foolish again.” His thumb traced the scar on her left wrist.

Qi Ran threw her arms around his back, burying her face in his shoulder. She nuzzled his cheek like a kitten.

Tears streamed down her face—tears of joy, of sorrow, she couldn’t tell.

*Just… let me cry here. Just for now.*

This was the only place she could cry. The only place she could lean. The only place that felt warm.