"Xiao Ran, it’s getting late. Let’s skip our walk today…"

Qi Yan had squeezed their walks into the route for buying pudding. Eating, sleeping, bathroom breaks, and work devoured nearly all his time.

Driven by the relentless gears of time, Qi Yan had no autonomy. One pause, and life’s crushing weight would grind him to dust.

“Just wash my feet, finish the routine, and sleep!” Qi Yan muttered, massaging his sore shoulders.

He’d weathered exhaustion before. A hot shower usually washed away most fatigue, leaving him refreshed. But lately, even that barely helped. Was his body breaking down? *Once the hospital debts are cleared,* he thought, *life might finally ease up…*

*Jingle-jingle—*

Qi Ran tilted her head, waving a small hand before Qi Yan’s dazed eyes. The bell on her wrist chimed crisp and clear.

“Oh! Sorry—I zoned out. I’ll heat the water now.”

Qi Yan snapped back, scrambling to prepare the basin.

*Too close.* He’d almost shown his weary, crumbling self to his sister. He was the pillar of this household.

He couldn’t fall. He couldn’t lose hope.

Days blurred together. The only difference tonight? Qi Ran hadn’t bathed. A faint, natural fragrance of youth drifted from her—no cheap synthetic shower gel scent, but something pure and warm.

Qi Yan wasn’t a foot fetishist. Yet every time he washed his sister’s feet, his mind wandered. A true fetishist wouldn’t just wash—they’d lick every inch clean.

Honestly? He just loved drawing pretty girls. Turning 3D beauty into 2D art felt like a compulsion.

Qi Ran’s legs were as good as paralyzed. Tights seemed pointless—she couldn’t put them on or take them off alone. But after leaving the hospital, swapping her gown for cute casual wear, she’d insisted:

*“Tights make me feel safe.”*

*Safe?* Did they act like armor for girls? As one of her rare whims, Qi Yan happily obliged.

Her over-the-knee socks came in black and white. Today’s choice—black—clashed with her innocent aura. *White suits her purity better,* he mused, *but the contrast of black… has its own charm.*

Qi Yan’s palms rested on her thighs. The soft fabric triggered a memory: his first time helping her into tights, fingers trembling, treading on thin ice, nearly tearing the delicate material.

*Pathetic.* He scoffed inwardly. *I’ve even changed her underwear. What’s left to fear?* The thought twisted oddly—like he’d done unspeakable things to his mute, doll-like sister, trapped in bed.

Clueless about proper technique, he peeled the sock down gently, inch by inch, until it slipped free from her toes. He repeated it for the other foot.

Seated on the bed’s edge, Qi Ran dipped her feet into the basin. Before Qi Yan could start washing, a soft weight pressed on his head. Darkness swallowed his vision. Her scent filled his nose.

He looked up—his cheek brushed against the gentle swell beneath her shirt.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?” Qi Yan tensed.

Qi Ran shook her head slowly, her hair rippling like gentle waves. Silently, she patted her bare thigh.

“You want me to lie down?” he guessed.

She closed her eyes, nodding.

*She noticed.* His exhaustion. He shouldn’t be surprised—she wasn’t blind or deaf. Just voiceless. Legless. She’d seen his sighs, heard them in her heart.

When he didn’t move, she pressed his head down firmly, guiding his face toward her stomach. He lay sideways, cheek resting on her knee.

Her fingers combed through his hair, slow and soothing—like lulling a child to sleep, minus the lullaby.

Soft thigh. Tender strokes. Time dissolved. His purpose forgotten.

By the time he stirred, the wash water had turned icy.

“Guess I’ll reheat the water,” Qi Yan chuckled wryly. “But… thanks for the ‘knee pillow.’ I feel lighter now.”

He ruffled Qi Ran’s hair, gratitude spilling freely.

They were like wounded kittens, licking each other’s scars.

After tonight’s leg exercises and speech drills—delayed by unexpected chaos—it was past ten. Qi Ran yawned nonstop, eyelids drooping. She never stayed up late. Couldn’t.

Qi Yan’s panda-like dark circles had deepened from recent all-nighters finishing his manuscript. *At least that’s done,* he thought. *No more sleepless nights for a while.*

After goodnights, he drew the bed curtain, unrolled his straw mat, and turned off the light. But sleep wouldn’t come. Usually, exhaustion knocked him out instantly. Tonight, he tossed in shallow, restless slumber.

*Jingle. Jingle. Jingle.*

The bell rang in threes. Again. Again.

*She needs the toilet.*

Qi Yan jolted upright on his mat, groggy but certain this wasn’t a dream.

“Xiao Ran!”

Light flooded the room. Curtains parted. All in one breath.

His sister’s tear-streaked face glowed crimson under the lamp.

*Thank god I woke up. Thank god for that bell.* Without it, her bed would’ve been soaked through.

Qi Yan swept her up and dashed straight to the bathroom. He settled her onto the toilet chair. “Ring when you’re done. I’ll wait outside.”

As he turned to leave, her small hand caught his sleeve.

Her arms looped around his waist, clinging tight. Her face buried into his back.

A cold, damp patch spread slowly across his shirt—icy needles piercing his heart.

Tonight, more than one place was flowing.