Chapter 13: Forgot to bring the keys

The student dormitory wasn’t far from the Minsi Building, but the way out wasn’t in the same direction as the school gate.

After delivering the umbrella, Yuezhang Yan greeted them, put on his raincoat hood, and headed back to his dorm alone.

Xie Qiaoqiao opened her umbrella and stepped into the curtain of rain. The wind rattled the alloy ribs of the umbrella, making the fabric thud, blending with the relentless patter of the rain.

Even with the umbrella’s shelter, Xie Qiaoqiao’s head and upper body were safe, but her pants and shoes were completely soaked—raindrops, like peas fired by a Pea Shooter, crackled against her calves and knees, while water pooled on the ground, rising past her ankles, fully submerging her shoes.

Zhang Xueji was even worse off than Xie Qiaoqiao.

He was taller and bigger, so the same model of umbrella that could keep Xie Qiaoqiao’s short sleeves dry only covered Zhang Xueji’s head.

Rainwater soaked his shirt and gathered at the hem, pouring down and merging with the downpour—he might as well have taken a bath.

Neither of them had the breath to speak. Against the wind and rain, they sprinted all the way back to the Unit Building. Xie Qiaoqiao, too impatient to climb the steps, skipped up two at a time into the Elevator Lobby, closed her umbrella, and shook it out toward the floor.

The water running off the umbrella looked like a small waterfall, splashing onto the marble floor with a rush.

Zhang Xueji sneezed several times in a row, his soaked short sleeves clinging to his body, the skin beneath faintly visible.

Xie Qiaoqiao’s gaze lingered on his wet upper body. After a while, she dropped her eyes to her own waist. The hem of her shirt was wet, sticking to her waist, the faint outline of her skin showing through.

The key.

Did she bring it?

Xie Qiaoqiao had never noticed such things before—so people’s skin could be different in color.

They took the elevator up to the 27th floor. Xie Qiaoqiao stood at her door and began searching her crossbody bag for the key.

Inside her crossbody Canvas Bag, she found the Red String threaded with Bronze Coins, found a pack of Wet Wipes, found a pile of coins… but no key.

Xie Qiaoqiao stopped searching, gripping the edge of her Canvas Bag with both hands, lost in thought: Did I bring my key when I left today?

It seemed she really hadn’t checked if the key was in her bag when she went out.

Beside her came the sound of an Electronic Lock being unlocked. Xie Qiaoqiao turned and saw Zhang Xueji had already opened his door.

She turned, walking into Zhang Xueji’s apartment as if it were the most natural thing, and stood at the entrance to take off her wet shoes and socks.

Zhang Xueji was startled, alarmed. “Is there a ghost in my house?!”

Xie Qiaoqiao: “No, I just forgot my key.”

Zhang Xueji breathed a sigh of relief, opened the Shoe Cabinet, and took out a pair of Spare Slippers, half-kneeling to place them by Xie Qiaoqiao’s feet.

He lowered himself in front of her. Xie Qiaoqiao saw his damp hair, and his shoulders and back, the thin layer of muscle shifting as he bent over to put down the slippers. When he reached forward, the warmth of his breath brushed faintly against her knee.

Xie Qiaoqiao stepped back a little to put some distance between them, then put on the Slippers.

The Slippers were a bit big for her, dragging on the floor as she walked, which felt awkward. Unused to the restriction, Xie Qiaoqiao flexed her ankles, her calves tensing with the effort.

She didn’t like anything that restricted her movement.

Zhang Xueji wiped the rain from his face, fetched a clean Towel from the wardrobe, and draped it over Xie Qiaoqiao’s head. “Your hair—dry it off.”

Even though the umbrella had shielded her head, Xie Qiaoqiao’s hair was still a bit damp. She dried her hair with the Towel as she walked inside, the ill-fitting Slippers slapping against the floor.

Outside, the Rain was still pouring down, the sky dark. The warm light in the living room made everything feel much softer.

The edges of Xie Qiaoqiao’s soaked shorts dripped water, trickling down her knees and calves, leaving winding trails on her skin. The water shimmered under the living room lights.

For a moment, Zhang Xueji didn’t know where to look.

Staring at Xie Qiaoqiao felt rude, but looking away made him feel guilty. As the host, he stood to the side, fingers fidgeting, watching Xie Qiaoqiao pace around the living room like she was surveying her territory.

The coffee table was piled with snacks clamped shut with a Document Folder, scattered Draft Paper, and a Fountain Pen with the cap off—clothes were stacked on the sofa.

Near the balcony’s glass doors, a Thermal Bag from a Milk Tea delivery was tossed onto a rocking chair.

Zhang Xueji strode over and stuffed the Thermal Bag into the trash can. “Haha, uh, I was in a hurry this morning, it’s not usually this messy.”

“The Rain outside is so heavy, if you call a locksmith, you’ll probably have to wait until the rain stops or even until tomorrow—do you want to change into my clothes first?”

Xie Qiaoqiao finished drying her hair and draped the Towel over her arm. “Okay.”

Zhang Xueji ran into the master bedroom, rummaged through his closet, and finally found the smallest size shirt and pants he had. But even as he held up the pants, he hesitated.

Will these fit her?

Will they fall off?

Carrying the clothes out, Zhang Xueji led Xie Qiaoqiao to the shared bathroom and pointed out the items inside. “This bottle is Shampoo, this one’s Shower Gel, red on the touchscreen is hot water, blue is cold.”

“I’ll hang your clothes and Towel here. Dirty clothes go in the Laundry Basket.”

Xie Qiaoqiao had a good memory; she nodded after hearing it once.

Hot water chased away the chill left by the Rain on her skin. Xie Qiaoqiao didn’t like the smell of rainwater in her hair, so she washed her hair as well.

Although it was an unfamiliar bathroom, Xie Qiaoqiao didn’t feel out of place. She’d moved often as a child and never developed a sense of a fixed home—and this bathroom was very well-designed. The Shower here felt much better than her own.

Only when using the unfamiliar Shampoo did Xie Qiaoqiao show a hint of caution.

She pumped the Shampoo into her palm and brought her damp nose close to sniff it. The overly fresh scent was a bit sharp, and she wrinkled her face.

Lemon-scented.

The Shower Gel was orange blossom.

After showering, Xie Qiaoqiao put on clean clothes and tidied up in front of the Bathroom Sink mirror.

The clothes were a bit big, and so were the pants.

The short-sleeved shirt became a half-sleeve, and the shorts covered her knees. The loose clothes let air swirl through the sleeves. Xie Qiaoqiao looked down and tugged the pants up a little.

She left the bathroom and saw Zhang Xueji had also showered and changed into pajamas, sitting on the sofa blow-drying his hair.

He turned off the Blow Dryer and ran his hand through his messy hair. The fluffy hair almost covered his eyes—his bright pupils stared at Xie Qiaoqiao through the strands, unblinking.

“Want to blow-dry your hair? I’m done.”

He handed the Blow Dryer to Xie Qiaoqiao, who took it and fiddled with it.

She’d never used this type of Blow Dryer and couldn’t find the button.

Zhang Xueji coughed and sat down on the coffee table across from her. “Want me to help?”

As he spoke, he reached out a hand toward Xie Qiaoqiao. Under the warm light, the air was filled with lemon and orange blossom scents. The scent on Zhang Xueji was exactly the same as the one on Xie Qiaoqiao after she’d just used the Shower Gel and Shampoo.

Xie Qiaoqiao silently handed the Blow Dryer back to Zhang Xueji and sat on the sofa.

The Blow Dryer soon hummed to life, hot air blowing through Xie Qiaoqiao’s damp hair, the water droplets at the tips carrying a hint of lemon.

Zhang Xueji ran his fingers through her hair, quickly getting them wet. He was careful not to touch her scalp or ears, gradually feeling the strands become dry and fluffy.

Outside the window, the wind and Rain lashed the glass, but Zhang Xueji felt the living room was getting warm, his skin and lips dry—maybe it was just the Blow Dryer’s heat.

Zhang Xueji asked softly, “Is the air too hot?”

Xie Qiaoqiao: “No.”

Silence fell again, broken only by the sound of Rain and the Blow Dryer, with the scents of lemon and orange blossom drifting in the air.

The dampness gradually faded, and Xie Qiaoqiao’s hair slowly dried. While waiting for her hair to dry completely, she rested her hands motionless on her knees.

From the corner of his eye, Zhang Xueji noticed the back of Xie Qiaoqiao’s hand—pale skin, faint blue veins and bone structure showing through, and a mark where her nail had broken the skin.

The wound was a little white from being soaked.

He grew anxious. “Qiaoqiao, your hand—”

Xie Qiaoqiao was spacing out. Hearing him, she lowered her lashes to look at the back of her hand. “What is it?”

Zhang Xueji: “Did a ghost scratch you?”

Xie Qiaoqiao shook her head. “She didn’t catch me.”

Zhang Xueji hesitated. “Was it in the elevator… did I do that when I grabbed you?”

When they’d reached the basement, Xie Qiaoqiao had indeed said he was holding her too tightly. But she’d sounded calm, not at all in pain.

Xie Qiaoqiao raised her injured hand for a look, then grabbed Zhang Xueji’s wrist, pressing his fingertips against the mark.

Zhang Xueji’s nails were neatly trimmed, leaving just a short edge. The shape of his nails matched the wound on Xie Qiaoqiao’s hand perfectly.

After comparing, Xie Qiaoqiao let go. “You did it.”

Zhang Xueji immediately felt embarrassed and fetched the Medical Kit to treat her wound.

Although Xie Qiaoqiao didn’t think it was necessary—such a small cut, she didn’t even consider it an injury—Zhang Xueji insisted, sitting down on the floor in front of her. Xie Qiaoqiao had no choice but to rest her hand in his palm.

A Cotton Swab dipped in Disinfectant gently dabbed at the wound, making it foam a little.

Zhang Xueji leaned in and blew softly on the wound. The sting of the Disinfectant and the cool, ticklish sensation of his breath mingled, crawling over the back of Xie Qiaoqiao’s hand.

A novel way of handling things.

Xie Qiaoqiao had only seen actors do this in the Han Dramas that Hua Lingyue liked to watch; she’d never seen it in real life. She’d always thought blowing gently on a wound was like the so-called Guardian Angel in fantasy dramas, something female writers made up with their sensitive imaginations.

Xie Qiaoqiao: “Why blow on the wound?”

Her tone was calm and steady. When Zhang Xueji looked up, he saw her expressionless face.

He didn’t know why she’d ask, but answered anyway. “Uh, it’s… a kind of psychological comfort, I guess.”

But Xie Qiaoqiao still couldn’t understand. “Why psychological comfort? It’s my hand that’s hurt, not my mind. I don’t need comforting.”

Zhang Xueji was silent for a moment. When he didn’t speak, Xie Qiaoqiao also stayed silent, patiently waiting for his answer, her hand still resting in his palm.

He looked up at her from below, his back growing hot with nerves, but trying his best to appear calm, his bright eyes shining with a watery light.

“Because I like you. I don’t want you to feel sad, so I do it.”