After all, in her previous life, she had died at twenty-seven. And this child was only sixteen. What was there to be embarrassed about?
After a brief internal struggle, Shang Qing looked at the frail boy lying on the hospital bed and saw only a little brother.
She had vowed to take on the burden of caring for Ji Xun, but since this was her first time looking after someone, her technique was clumsy. Grandma Kang began to teach her step by step.
Having grasped the essentials, Shang Qing wrung out a warm towel and carefully reached toward Ji Xun’s back, where every bone protruded sharply.
The more she wiped, the more her heart ached. How could he have become so thin? Her fingers felt nothing but bone; he was little more than a skeleton. This wasn't just "thin"—this was beyond the limits of a normal person. How much he must have suffered!
Her heart ached inexplicably. Poor, pitiful little thing. He was only sixteen. A high school freshman, a year younger than the body she now occupied.
Shang Qing’s eyes reddened. She wiped them secretly, eventually holding back her tears.
"Men shouldn't cry easily," she thought, "and surely, the same goes for women." With that reflection, she felt a little better.
Fueled by this sympathy for Ji Xun, Shang Qing no longer worried about the boundaries between genders. She began to bathe him with increasing ease and naturalness, without any psychological burden.
Kang Yaolan held his thin, cold arm, feeling skin that seemed as thin as paper, and sighed. "Brother Ji’s passing was too great a blow to Xiaoxun. Sigh."
"Brother Ji had been ill for over six months before he passed. During that time, this child was the one running around taking care of everything, becoming more and more haggard. Later, after Brother Ji passed away and the simple funeral was over, the boy never cried. He just knelt there with his back straight, kowtowing to every guest who came to offer condolences. He didn't eat a single bite. When we tried to persuade him, he said he’d already eaten. If Doctor Wang hadn’t told us, we never would have known he hadn't eaten anything in ages and had developed some kind of anorexia. Sigh, and now, in just these few days, he’s wasted away until there’s nothing left but bones."
Shang Qing listened quietly. She knew it was good for Grandma to talk about it; it kept her from bottling up her grief. But seeing how heartbroken Grandma was, she quickly comforted her: "Grandma, the nurse has already given him intravenous nutrients. In the hospital, he will surely get the best care."
"Sigh... what 'best care'? If Officer Ying hadn't kept a close watch on this situation and withheld some of the money to cover hospital expenses, would this child even have a chance to live?"
Shang Qing knew Grandma was speaking the truth.
"It’s fortunate that we found the community and learned about this. Otherwise, who would come to take care of him? The nurses? They have no obligation to. This child is just too pitiful."
"Sigh, you didn’t see it—because no one was taking care of him, the day I pulled back the blankets, a strange smell hit me. The child was filthy, and his back was red and swollen with heat rash. There was no one to look after him at all..."
"Back then, I heard Brother Ji say that this child was the cleanest person. Even when Brother Ji was at his sickest, Xiaoxun kept him spotlessly clean..."
The more Grandma Kang spoke, the sadder she became. She choked up, unable to continue, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
Shang Qing quickly grabbed some tissues, gently wiped Grandma’s tears, and comforted her: "Yes, Grandma, you’re right. It’s fortunate that we know now. With us taking care of him, he isn't alone anymore. We will make him the happiest child. He isn't pitiful."
If Grandma Kang and she hadn't come to the hospital, what would have been his fate? Shang Qing couldn't even imagine it.
Grandma Kang patted Shang Qing’s hand in relief and nodded in agreement.
"Grandma, I can handle things here. You should go back now." Grandma was too emotional, and staying here would only make her sadder. Shang Qing prepared to send her home, but seeing her about to refuse, she added, "Grandma, I’m craving sweet and sour pork ribs. Would you go home and make them for me?"
Watching Grandma Kang leave, Shang Qing sighed and shook her head. Her kind, lovely grandmother couldn't bear to see any suffering in the world. Wasn't that exactly what she loved most about her?
The room fell silent. A breeze blew through the window, causing the curtains to flutter. Dappled shadows from the trees danced with the sunlight across the boy’s body.
Shang Qing’s fingers traced Ji Xun’s protruding spine, where a few lingering red spots remained. His skin was cool, almost as if it lacked the warmth of the living. Yet, feeling the faint signal of his heartbeat seemed to be a plea to those who cared about him—a question of whether they could help him, save him. He was still breathing; he was alive, and he still had the right to go on living.
After carefully wiping his thin, cold back, Shang Qing rolled him back to lie flat. Wiping him this way, holding him with one hand to keep him from rolling over while wiping with the other, was really uncomfortable. Next time, would it be feasible to have him lie on his stomach?
To make things easier for herself, Shang Qing began to ponder the feasibility of that idea.
Remembering the nurse saying that massaging Ji Xun would help his recovery and prevent muscle atrophy and organ failure, Shang Qing thought for a moment and decided to start with his limbs.
Without hesitation, she lifted Ji Xun’s hand. The joints were distinct, the fingers long and slender like bamboo—how could they be so beautiful? Was he a hand model? The only eyesore was the bruising from the IVs and the minor abrasions. She could imagine that if he were healthy, his hands would be absolutely perfect.
Shang Qing couldn't help but hold his soft palm, interlacing her slightly fleshy fingers into his long, cold ones. The contrast between her warm, soft touch and his slender, chilly one was striking. To Shang Qing, it felt like a beauty of delicacy and strength.
In reality, it was quite the opposite. Because Ji Xun was in a coma, his hand was limp and boneless, while Shang Qing had more strength—she was the source of power!
With his large, limp hand gripped in her small one, Shang Qing felt like she was in control. She sighed... she wished she had hands like these, too. She was envious!
After playing with his hand for a while, she began the massage according to the nurse's instructions.
After patiently massaging his hands and arms, she turned her attention to his legs.
She pulled back the blanket, exposing a pair of straight, slender legs. Although thin, the shape was beautiful. His left calf was injured and wrapped in bandages, but his right leg showed off his potential—smooth lines and a slim ankle. Apart from the purple and blue bruises from where he had been kicked, the rest of his skin was fair and delicate.
Shang Qing thought that if not for his extreme thinness, these two legs would be a masterpiece of God. Like works of art.
How could a boy have such perfect, straight legs? She was green with envy! Yet, the moment she thought about something happening to his legs, her heart twinged with pain.
He must not become crippled. What a terrible waste that would be. She would have to ask Doctor Wang about it later!