“That… we should get going…”
Tang Qi spoke up, interrupting Xia Yubing’s reminiscence.
She didn’t know why she had to be the one to call Xia Yubing, but she still hadn’t forgotten their awkward conversation earlier. She could only grit her teeth and talk to her.
Everyone else was already there; she was the only one missing.
She had been pushed forward, so she had to call out whether she wanted to or not.
She stood behind Xia Yubing, calling out however she could, but the person in front of her didn’t respond, standing on the balcony like a statue.
Another strange person.
“Xia Yubing?” Tang Qi asked tentatively.
No way, so young and already with the hearing of an eighty-year-old. What a great cost-performance ratio.
Xia Yubing pulled herself out of her memories again. She came back to her senses and remembered that they had a new task today.
She closed the balcony door and nodded to Tang Qi. “Okay, let’s go.”
——–
Down on the first floor.
Everyone gathered in the living room. Ke Zhuila squinted her eyes; she was wrapped in layers of warm cotton clothing. The weather was terribly cold today, with an unexpected drop in temperature.
The wind outside blew fiercely and coldly, even knocking down the wooden boards surrounding the chicken coop.
They usually only fed the chickens in the afternoon; they did it in the morning only for the show’s sake. There weren’t many chickens left at home, and with the temperature dropping so fast, some chicks definitely hadn’t survived. Only a few sturdy old hens remained.
How many exactly? Ke Zhuila scratched her head as she thought about it.
To be precise, she couldn’t remember clearly either, but feeding them a bit later shouldn’t be a problem.
The chickens weren’t awake yet anyway. Feeding them now wouldn’t make for much of a show—would they watch sleeping chickens and bleary-eyed feeders?
She made a snap decision. “We’re not going. Not going. Everyone, go back to sleep.”
Gu Yue jumped at her words and quickly asked, “What’s going on? What happened?”
“Why not go just because?” You Hui asked.
“Isn’t there some other task?”
Tang Qi stood apart from the group. She caught the two key words and asked seriously, “Really? We’re really going back to sleep?”
The others listened intently, all casting expectant looks at Ke Zhuila.
Meeting everyone’s gazes, Ke Zhuila nodded with unusual firmness. She waved her hand grandly. “Let’s go back. It’s so early and cold; the chickens aren’t up yet. Who are we feeding? Better to go back and catch some sleep.”
The director had instructed her anyway: call them if there was important work, but otherwise, it was up to her. If it conflicted with the production team’s plans, she had the right to cancel it—just like now.
Listen to the voice of the masses. Sleeping was to recharge for more diligent work later. Sleep when it was time to sleep.
“Oh, I knew the production team was acting weird. We’ve been up so long and haven’t heard the chickens clucking—they really haven’t woken up yet.”
“Let’s go, back we go.”
“Great, going back to sleep after eating our fill means no empty stomach.”
No one objected; instead, they happily dispersed.
After speaking to the group, Ke Zhuila hurried back to her room without delay, shut the door to block out the cold wind, and moved with such speed that it left people smacking their lips in admiration.
“Upstairs, upstairs.”
“Sleep, sleep.”
Lu Nan couldn’t have been happier to go back for a nap. She turned to Song Wenwei, pointing at her stomach, “Good thing I didn’t eat too much earlier, or I wouldn’t be able to sleep.”
Song Wenwei heard it like it was a joke and couldn’t help laughing. “Even like this, you can’t sleep? You were walking with your eyes closed; I was afraid you’d fall asleep right on the stairs.”
“Really? That obvious?” Lu Nan pressed.
She had wondered why she kept bumping into walls while walking. She thought it was her water reverse today, but it turned out she just wasn’t looking where she was going.
Song Wenwei nodded. “Yes.”
“Sigh.” Lu Nan let out a heavy sigh and slipped back into her drama queen mode, her face full of worry. “Actually, I…”
Song Wenwei smiled and gave her a gentle push, cutting off her performance mid-sentence. The motion was as light as a feather brushing by.
“Come on, let’s go up and sleep. If you say much more, you really won’t be able to sleep.”
It made sense; staying longer, and the sleepiness would be blown away by the cold wind.
Song Wenwei went upstairs, with Lu Nan following behind. The house suddenly fell quiet, filled only with the sound of wind and their footsteps.
Song Wenwei held her hand, guiding her slowly up, glancing back now and then, afraid she’d fall asleep mid-step. This person had such a big heart.
“Don’t actually fall asleep—keep your eyes open so you don’t miss a step,” Song Wenwei reminded.
“Mhm, don’t worry, I won’t.”
Her eyes drooped. Cold weather was perfect for sleeping in. Lu Nan yawned for the umpteenth time. The bed was just ahead; soon she’d be lying on it, continuing her sweet dreams.
In the living room, Xia Zhengyun wrapped herself in her blanket and remade her bedding. No matter what the person beside her said, she didn’t respond and just buried her head to sleep.
She lay in the corner of the living room, with a hard, cold tea table pressed against her back. Unlike the hard wall, it would shift if she pushed it, and she could reach out to touch the ornaments on it.
Unlike the wall that enclosed people—square, uniform gray cement, hard and confining.
This spot could only fit one person, effectively avoiding other issues.
Like Xia Yubing insisting on sleeping together. Fine, Xia Zhengyun thought—
If you want to sleep together, lie on the tea table. It was narrow and long, impossible to lie flat on without the constant risk of rolling off and falling. Forget sleeping; even lying there was a problem.
In the other corner lay another set of bedding—that was Xia Yubing’s. The two of them were like sulking children, both sleeping out in the open. In a way, weren’t they sleeping together?
Xia Yubing lay on her mat, covered with a floral quilt. With half-open eyes, she could vaguely make out that familiar silhouette.
—
Last night, when Xia Yubing chased after her, she was already lying there.
“Sis, talk to me.” Xia Yubing sat beside her. Even with the balcony door closed, cold wind still seeped in occasionally, chilling the furniture and floor.
“Sis, I know you’re not asleep.”
Xia Yubing persisted. Suddenly, she wanted to lift the blanket and crawl in, but she couldn’t.
It was night; her sister wavered between clarity and madness.
“Scram.”
That voice chased her away again.
Xia Yubing suddenly asked, “Sis, just one last question, and I’ll go. During those five days of facing the wall in reflection, did you also wish someone would comfort you, instead of just the crying me?”
“Answer me, okay?”
No reply came, not even an angry “scram.” Xia Yubing sat a while longer until her legs went numb, then stood from the cold floor.
“Sis, good night. Sweet dreams.”
Now, that silhouette overlapped with last night’s in her mind. Xia Yubing closed her eyes, her thoughts in chaos.
How could she get close again?
Why couldn’t she learn? She couldn’t even master something this simple. Why?
The others passing through the living room saw the two sleeping out in the open and wanted to ask why, but no one spoke up. The pair lay there without a hint of discomfort; the atmosphere was weird and awkward.
Mo Zhiting’s steps paused imperceptibly. His gaze swept over the woman under the tea table.
She hated Xia Yubing even more than he had imagined—hating her to the point of sleeping on the floor instead of a proper bed. Yes, with someone like Xia Yubing, how could she possibly like her? This was better.
Better than struggling in agony at the hospital, wishing for death.
To others’ glances, it seemed nothing unusual—the two were far apart yet not too far, separated by several pieces of furniture.
But Lu Nan, looking closely, spotted the other figure from Xia Yubing’s not-so-great spot.
Her earlier guess wasn’t wrong. What kind of relatives chased each other relentlessly, sticking like dog-skin plaster?
Wanting to share a bed, with bursts of possessiveness? What family had relatives like that? Even half-sisters wouldn’t act this way.
It was clearly…
Human emotion—love disguised as familial affection.
So this was why they were monitoring her and Song Wenwei?
Just to… imitate their love…?
Lu Nan was puzzled.
But love couldn’t be imitated so easily. Everyone’s capacity for love differed. What moved Song Wenwei wouldn’t move others, because everyone was unique—what they liked, what they hated, all different.
Love wasn’t a math problem; imitation wouldn’t yield it.
Lu Nan looked at the two, still doubting. At the very beginning, how did Xia Zhengyun know about her and Song Wenwei?
If Xia Yubing had been imitating their love for years, how did Xia Zhengyun know all about it—so clearly, even naming the hospital where Song Wenwei had stayed?
Would Xia Yubing have told her?
——–
The two had already reached their room, facing a wooden door.
Song Wenwei gently pushed it open with a creak. They entered slowly, afraid to disturb the sleepers inside. Moving cautiously let the outside chill pour in.
Gu Yue had just gotten into bed, not yet feeling the warmth before the cold hit. She hurriedly said, “You two, come in quick and shut the door—it’s freezing.”
Tang Qi sat nearby, covered with a blanket. Her gaze occasionally swept over the two neatly made beds beside her, looking unoccupied.
She had already made them up. Lu Nan had left in a rush that morning, just roughly folding the blankets—crooked and messy, better left unfolded. At home, Tang Qi never bothered folding properly; she’d just shake it out, align the corners to the bed, and leave.
“Yo, who was so nice as to make my bed?”
Lu Nan was surprised to find her previously rumpled sheets now perfectly tidy before her.
Song Wenwei looked at her own bed after hearing—it was the same, neatly made, even the blanket oriented identically. She glanced at Tang Qi nearby.
Only she would do something like this. Tang Qi often showed concern for Song Wenwei and did thoughtful things for her.
“Thank you,” Song Wenwei said gratefully.
Tang Qi nodded a bit shyly. “No need to thank me, Wenwei-jie. Hehe, I’m off to sleep.”
Before Lu Nan could thank her, she burrowed fully into her blanket, as if forgetting Lu Nan existed.
Yay, she got praised.
Tang Qi closed her eyes contentedly; even her upcoming dreams would be sweet.
She had received Song Wenwei’s kindness and naturally repaid it in kind. There weren’t many good people like Song Wenwei. She’d seen people pretend to be wholeheartedly devoted on the surface while cursing viciously behind her back.
But Song Wenwei was different—a truly good person. She helped Tang Qi in tough times, never ignoring her for being a nobody in the industry, and even sent holiday greetings.
So Tang Qi wanted to be good to her, even if just making the bed—as long as it made Song Wenwei happy. She had that kind of magic.
“This kid…” Lu Nan looked helplessly at the bundled-up figure.
Had she figured something out? That’s why she made Song Wenwei’s bed and even Lu Nan’s? After all, Tang Qi had been hostile toward her the day before, like a territorial fan about to explode.
Now she was thoughtfully making her bed.
But if she figured it out, she should be angrier.
Why make the bed? Lu Nan really wanted to yank off her covers and demand answers.
If not for filming, Lu Nan might suspect she was hiding needles in the sheets, only to hear screams upon lying down—then why be so nice?
“Sleep. You can thank her later,” Song Wenwei said.
In others’ eyes, Tang Qi was still half a child, even as an adult—her ideas impractical. Lu Nan knew that.
She nodded. “Okay.”
They took off their shoes and slipped under the covers together.
The bedding had long gone cold. Lu Nan huddled tight to generate warmth quickly. She slipped her hands under and made a hugging motion.
At home, she slept hugging a plush toy; there were none here, but the habit was hard to break.
Tang Qi and Gu Yue had already drifted off, their breathing steady. Soon, only the two facing each other remained.
Song Wenwei patted her and closed her eyes. “Sleep now, while you can still catch that nap.”
“Sleep, sleep, sleep.”
After a while, Lu Nan opened her eyes and looked at her. She stretched out her hand and playfully whispered, “Wenwei, we say good night before sleeping, so now it should be… good morning?”
“That’s not right.” Song Wenwei opened her eyes and gazed into hers. “Doesn’t good morning mean greeting someone for a good morning?”
“Seems like it…” Lu Nan pondered for a moment. What should one say when going to sleep in the morning?
But hardly anyone slept in the morning… which was why the phrase wasn’t commonly known.
Not good morning, not early bedtime—what then…?
As she mulled it over, Lu Nan’s mind grew foggy. Her eyes slowly drifted shut beyond her control, and no answers came to her.
After waiting a long time with no response to her “early what,” Song Wenwei finally noticed that the person beside her had already closed her eyes and begun breathing evenly.
She let out a soft chuckle, tucked the blanket neatly around Lu Nan, and covered her chilled, slightly red hands.
“Good morning,” she said.
