The next day, Qi Yan woke up and checked his temperature first.

He still had a slight fever, but his body felt worlds better than yesterday—light, refreshed, with no aches or pains.

Qi Yan asked Uncle Zheng for another day off. Today was meant to be spent with his sister.

Rarely seen at dawn, Qi Yan wheeled Qi Ran out of their room.

"Xiao Ran, try standing up like yesterday," he urged.

Gripping the wheelchair armrests, Qi Ran clenched her teeth and slowly straightened her legs. To Qi Yan, it felt like witnessing a miracle. Yet her balance wavered, and she finally collapsed into his arms, lips parted slightly, breathing delicate gasps.

Ideally, she should’ve used rehabilitation parallel bars—but in this rural town, none existed. Qi Yan became her only support.

Taking her hand, he said, "I’ll guide you for a few steps. If you tire, just lean on me. Got it? Never push yourself."

He’d almost said "tell me to stop," but remembering her voicelessness, he chose the simplest instruction.

A faint blush dusted Qi Ran’s cheeks as she nodded.

Step by step, rest by rest—they trained until dusk. Qi Ran still couldn’t walk alone, but now she could stand steady for nearly five seconds. A huge leap from yesterday.

On the third day of National Day holiday, Qi Yan took another leave for her. By the fourth day, after a brief morning session, he returned to his car-washing job. Life went on. Her recovery couldn’t be rushed.

Before leaving, he warned, "No sneaking extra practice. If you disobey, I’ll spank you."

Later, spotting dust on her sleeves, Qi Yan sighed. She shared his stubborn streak—ten oxen couldn’t drag her from her will. His threats? Ignored. She’d definitely trained alone.

But spanking a teenager? Too awkward for both of them.

That evening, Su Shiyu and senior sister Liu Qin called to check in, even offering visits. Qi Yan declined politely—it wasn’t that serious.

Time slipped like sand through fingers. Mid-Autumn Festival and his sister’s birthday drew near.

Around 4 p.m. on October 7th, with no customers at the shop, Qi Yan firmly requested early leave from Uncle Zheng—and borrowed a repaired bicycle.

Today, he’d show Qi Ran their town. Soon, she’d return to school, to her normal life.

Parking outside, he opened the door. Before he could speak, Qi Ran eagerly lifted her notebook:

*[Brother, training! Training!]*

"Alright, alright. I know."

Days of relentless practice had let her stand unaided now, longer each time. Yesterday, she’d managed five steps.

*[Today I’ll challenge six steps. No—seven!]*

"Six is enough. No need to rush," Qi Yan coaxed.

*[Seven!]*

Unable to refuse her, Qi Yan backed seven small steps away, standing two meters off.

Qi Ran rose slowly from her wheelchair. One shaky step. She paused to steady herself, took a deep breath, then stepped again.

By the third step, she panted heavily, beads of sweat glistening. Her body swayed unsteadily—any moment she might fall.

Qi Yan’s heart hammered in his throat. He crouched like a sprinter, ready to catch her.

No wrist guards, knee pads, or helmets protected her. Only hard-packed earth beneath her feet. He was her sole safety net.

When she stood just one step away, Qi Yan stretched out his arms for the warmest embrace.

But that final step refused to come. Her foot seemed glued to the floor.

Qi Yan’s chest tightened at her expression—lips bitten hard enough to bleed.

"That’s enough," he said gently. "Six steps is plenty. We agreed: small progress each day is enough."

Qi Ran shook her head stubbornly. Her knee lifted slowly—just one centimeter off the ground—when her balance shattered.

Qi Yan lunged forward, catching her as she fell. He cradled her head against his chest.

"I know your effort better than anyone. But it’s enough. Let me fill the gaps for you. Lean on me more—it’s okay. Many think, even you might believe, you can’t live without me."

"Maybe that’s true. But... I’m the same. If you suddenly didn’t need me—if you lived alone—I’d lose my purpose. My reason to exist."

"Perhaps we both have a strange, incurable illness. Call it ‘sibling dependency syndrome.’ Without each other, we couldn’t survive this world."

"So be selfish. Depend on me more. Whining to your brother is a sister’s privilege."

Qi Ran’s tears broke free, soaking through his shirt.

Lifting her tear-streaked face, she parted her lips soundlessly. Qi Yan, clueless in lip-reading, somehow understood:

*[Then I’ll cling to you forever. No taking it back!]*

"I’ll never take it back. Promise."

Promises demanded pinky swears.

Qi Ran lifted his large hand, hooking her pinky around his. Their thumbs pressed together. Qi Yan voiced the childhood chant for her silent vow:

"Pinky promise, hang the key—hundred years, no take-backs. Liars turn to puppies!"

Qi Ran’s eyes crinkled shut. She tilted her head, smiling—the most beautiful, natural smile she’d worn in two years.

This was their second promise. The first came after her failed suicide attempt, when Qi Yan’s blood saved her in that hospital bed.

*No matter what happens, we live—together.*

Now, this new vow felt like an echo. Yet for Qi Ran, it was essential—a refinement of that old promise. What she truly meant? Only she knew.

Perhaps someday, when her voice returned, she’d finally tell her silly brother.