Chapter 45: “Tame Animals” Part 2

Chi Buyu swiped a few times, puffing out her cheeks before tossing her phone aside. A moment later, she picked it back up and pressed the still-warm device to her forehead, only to feel the phone cooling against her skin.

No—her forehead was scorching hotter than the phone.

How could this be happening?

Her face fell, a wave of grievance washing over her. She pulled the phone away and scrolled through WeChat, itching to vent her frustrations somewhere. Not in 【Happy Planet】—she didn’t want the whole family rushing over. Not in 【Spring Outing Qing】 either, lest the wait for a reply from her little crybaby only make her feel worse.

Pouting, she thumped the Strawberry Bear. Hiding behind it, she mumbled pitifully to herself—ow, that hurt!

After ten minutes or so of tossing and turning in a tangled mess of blankets, she realized she needed to take better care of herself. Reluctantly, she dragged herself out of bed to brush her teeth. With no appetite, she rummaged for a thermometer and popped it into her mouth. Hunched over, she turned on the TV. The startup blare was so loud it nearly drowned out another sound. Alert, she muted the volume and scanned the room.

One or two minutes passed. Her eyes grew tired from straining, but that faint noise never came again.

She pursed her lips around the thermometer, suspecting she’d imagined it. Snuggling back with the Strawberry Bear, she sprawled lazily on the sofa and cranked the TV volume up once more.

The TV’s chatter filled the room, seeping through the thick door.

Cui Qijin stood outside.

The hand she’d raised to knock hung frozen in midair, locked in hesitation for a good two or three minutes now.

In her other hand was a stainless-steel thermos she’d picked up on impulse. Inside was Snow Pear Seacoconut Soup. She’d heard about it earlier that day at a restaurant on Love Adrift Street while eating lunch. The owner had been raving to a raspy-voiced customer about how it was the best thing for soothing a sore throat.

She hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Hadn’t meant to memorize the recipe.

Yet under the owner’s enthusiastic bellowing, the ingredients had stuck in her mind anyway.

Back home, she’d prepared for a nap.

But her lunch had left her too full, so she’d gone downstairs. By chance, she’d stumbled upon a market stocked with snow pears, honey dates, seacoconuts, green olives, and figs.

Everything she needed.

She’d walked past coldly at first, with no intention of buying. But the market aunties were too persuasive, their sales pitches relentless. Before she knew it, she was lugging bags back home.

By the time she’d snapped out of it, the soup had simmered gently for thirty or forty minutes, its aroma just right. She’d even scrubbed and disinfected the new thermos at least three times over—spotless by her standards.

And so, carrying this soup she’d accidentally perfected, she’d accidentally tailed Chi Buyu past the building’s security gate and accidentally ended up at her door.

She hesitated, then rapped once. The TV blared to life inside. Suddenly, she remembered—

Did Chi Buyu really need this one bucket of soup?

Would no one care for her while she was sick?

Surely her dad, mom, aunt, and older female cousin were all in there.

Of course they were.

She understood that perfectly, yet her feet wouldn’t budge.

With deep annoyance, she acknowledged her own stubbornness, standing there at an impasse with the wormwood wreath on Chi Buyu’s door—meant for Qingming, to ward off bugs and germs.

The TV hadn’t stopped droning inside. Sounded like Chi Buyu was watching SpongeBob SquarePants.

She recalled Chi Buyu saying she always watched it when she was sick.

So, was anyone else in there now?

Cui Qijin had no clue. Her arm ached as she lowered it, turning to leave. Her shoes scraped and shuffled against the floor in a half-hearted pivot, only for her to whirl right back.

Facing the door again, she lifted her hand once more.

But before she could knock, the door swung open from within.

In a flash, Cui Qijin yanked her hand back and hid the thermos behind her. Cool as a cucumber, she looked up to find Chi Buyu staring at her in utter astonishment.

Chi Buyu was wrapped in a blanket, thermometer dangling from her lips. Her cheeks glowed with feverish red, her messy hair bunched at her neck. As she spoke, the thermometer bobbed.

“Cui~ Mu~ Huo~”

Her words were muffled. Cui Qijin barely caught them.

She nodded nonchalantly, glancing casually into the room. No sign of anyone else. She withdrew her gaze just as quickly.

Clearing her throat, she thrust the thermos forward. Her own throat itched inexplicably. She coughed, then continued.

“Heard this soup’s good for your throat.”

She left it at that.

“Wow!” Chi Buyu exclaimed, nearly dropping the thermometer. She clamped her mouth shut and gazed at Cui Qijin pleadingly, pointing at the device in her mouth.

Cui Qijin nodded in understanding and nudged the thermos closer.

“I’ll head out then?”

Chi Buyu’s eyes widened. She pointed at herself, then at Cui Qijin.

Her gestures flew fast and furious.

Cui Qijin had been standing there forever with no one emerging. Suspicious, she asked,

“You alone in there?”

Chi Buyu nodded vigorously, then shuffled back into the entryway, dragging her blanket. She sniffled, her face still flushed, looking utterly pitiful.

“Fine, take your temperature first before you talk.”

Cui Qijin stepped inside with the thermos. A quick scan confirmed no one else was around. She relaxed, setting it on the dining table. Glancing back, she saw Chi Buyu had followed, thermometer still in her mouth, holding out a-yellow bowl and matching spoon with a grin.

Cui Qijin found her amusing.

She took the bowl, uncovered the thermos, and ladled in scoop after scoop. A clear, soothing aroma wafted out. The soup was still piping hot—Cui Qijin was pleased.

Chi Buyu sniffed, like a little hamster. But her heavy cold dulled her sense of smell; she wrinkled her nose in dissatisfaction before sniffing harder, her cheeks puffing out.

Cui Qijin filled the bowl and slid it over, resealing the thermos. Just then, the Tmall Genie chimed that it was time to check the temperature. Chi Buyu exhaled in relief and spat out the thermometer with a “pthoo.”

She didn’t even glance at the reading.

Instead, she took up the bowl, scooped a careful spoonful, blew on it, sipped, and smacked her lips thoughtfully before pronouncing,

“Delicious!”

She was never stingy with praise.

“Drink it slow,” Cui Qijin cautioned, finally relaxing.

She’d taste-tested it multiple times at home, deeming it passable by her exacting standards. Still, she couldn’t be sure what flavor of soup Chi Buyu truly liked.

“Got it.”

Chi Buyu beamed, swinging her legs like a kid. “So you can make soup too, huh?”

Cui Qijin hummed. “Just picked it up.”

She didn’t want to dwell on the soup. Picking up the discarded thermometer, she checked the mercury under the light and frowned slightly.

“38.2. You’re burning up.”

She told Chi Buyu so. But Chi Buyu stared blankly and called, “Cui Muhuo?”

“Yeah?”

Cui Qijin met her gaze and found Chi Buyu staring right back—more precisely, at her hand.

Reflexively, she set the thermometer down and dropped her hand below the table, out of sight. Changing tack, she said,

“Any fever meds yet?”

Chi Buyu shook her head. “After this soup.” Then, blinking solemnly, she set down her spoon and hopped away like a rabbit.

When she hopped back, she plopped right beside Cui Qijin, brandishing a Children’s Burn Patch and a tube of garish ointment. Bold as brass, she commanded,

“Hand up!”

“No.”

Cui Qijin refused with distaste. She had no desire for that tacky thing on her skin.

Besides…

“It’s just a little scald. No big deal.”

“As if!” Chi Buyu shot back. “It’s been ages—you made the soup and brought it here—and that patch of skin’s still red!”

“When did your eyesight get so sharp?” Cui Qijin teased.

Chi Buyu huffed. “As if there’s anything about you I don’t know.”

Seeing her uncooperative, Chi Buyu grabbed her hand anyway, placing it on the table. She gently rolled up the sleeve, eyed the red mark on the back, and scrunched her face.

Squeezing out some ointment, she applied it while puffing her cheeks and huffing on it.

A cool sensation spread from Cui Qijin’s wrist, dissipated by the warm breaths.

Chi Buyu kept her head down, this dummy oblivious that a feverish patient’s “huffing” wouldn’t help a burn.

Cui Qijin watched the top of her head.

A laugh bubbled up unexpectedly. No urge to scold her or call her out.

Chi Buyu scowled at the laughter and swatted her hand, feigning fierceness. “What’re you laughing at?”

Cui Qijin sobered.

Chi Buyu asked cautiously, “You didn’t catch a cold after falling in the water this time?”

Cui Qijin replied, “I’m fine. You’re the one dragging it out—not resting properly.”

“Pfft, little sickling.”

“You’re not much better. A minor cold and you’re still not over it.”

“As if!”

“No ‘as if’ about it.”

…

Chi Buyu couldn’t win the argument. She slapped on the garish burn patch but didn’t retreat across the table. Nor did she keep bickering. Instead, she strained to reach the bowl opposite, inching it closer to resume sipping her soup, eyes half-closed.

Before she knew it, she was sitting right beside Cui Qijin—and stayed there.

Her legs swung now and then, just like before. Sometimes brushing Cui Qijin’s leg, a light bump, then apart again.

Cui Qijin felt like a steaming hot baked sweet potato sat next to her—or a mischievous leaf rustling noisily.

Cui Qijin didn’t dodge. Once, she even itched to swing back. But she held still, impassive. Maybe she should leave. Or—

Was Chi Buyu doing it on purpose? Or not?

–

After finishing the soup, Chi Buyu took her fever medicine and wilted onto the sofa to keep watching SpongeBob SquarePants.

Cui Qijin washed Chi Buyu’s beige bowl and her own stainless steel thermos, the one Chi Buyu had been the only one to use. She simply couldn’t bear the thought of Chi Buyu washing dishes later than necessary, nor could she stand taking the thermos home to clean it herself. And so Chi Buyu lifted her head from beside the sofa, gazing at her with pleading eyes as she murmured her “thank you.”

After finishing the dishes, Cui Qijin glanced at Chi Buyu on the sofa—like a child with a fever reduction patch stuck to her forehead, her eyelids too heavy to keep open, yet insisting on watching SpongeBob SquarePants before she could finally drift off to sleep.

Cui Qijin eyed the television, unsure exactly which episode of SpongeBob was playing. Perhaps she should leave, but instead, she opened Chi Buyu’s fridge. Inside, she spotted a few kiwis. She washed them, sliced them open, and carried them over to the sofa, holding one out.

“Eating some fruit might make you feel better.”