Chapter 18
I patted his head, feeling like I saw the shadow of my two children in him: "What's wrong? Is there anything I can help you with?"
He didn't reply, but stubbornly held onto me.
I had no choice but to say helplessly, "Brother needs to go call the doctor. If it's not urgent, we can talk to him when the doctor arrives, okay?"
I suspect he has mild autism. The force with which he grabbed my clothes is unlike that of someone with social anxiety; his persistence surpasses that of 90% of people who want to keep someone but are too afraid to.
After hearing my last words, he reluctantly let go of my hand and then stared blankly at his palm.
The doctor wasn't in the infirmary, so I had to go outside to find him. I tucked the thermometer under his arm and, before leaving, slipped a paper cup into his hand, trying to fill his empty hand.
I didn't go far; I just stood at the door looking around, and finally saw the doctor come out of the dean's office.
When the doctor saw it was me, she laughed and said, "Qinghe, how did you get injured so early in the morning? I heard you had a big bandage on your neck not long after you arrived..." She saw the gauze and was surprised, "Wow, it really is a big bandage."
“It wasn’t me,” I explained to her. “There was a child in the house with a fever, and I took his temperature. Now it’s time to see him.”
"It's really easy to get a fever in this weather." Her expression turned serious, and she quickly went into the room. "Let me see what's wrong."
She took out the thermometer; it read 38.4 degrees Celsius.
The doctor wanted to get to the bottom of the matter, so she asked him, "How did you get a fever? Do you kick off your blankets when you sleep? What's your name? Can you tell the doctor?"
Considering the child's feelings, the decisive woman in her thirties or forties asked the question in a soft, gentle voice. I had never seen her speak like that before, and I couldn't help but smile.
A hint of laughter escaped his lips, and he twitched his ears, looking directly at me.
The doctor looked at me and said irritably, "What are you laughing at? You also have a wound. Have you treated it? Take off the gauze so I can take a look."
I didn't want anyone to see teeth marks on me, so I straightened my collar and said seriously, "I'll ask for you. You go ahead with your work. It's better if I do this kind of thing."
She glared at me and went to get her medicine. I sat down on the chair next to the bed, flicked her chin with my fingertips, and said with a smile, "Why do you keep peeking at me?"
I feel more relaxed talking to children, since their memories are always like the wind, impossible to grasp, and it's impossible to imagine which fragments from the past they will remember when they grow up.
Besides, with so many new things to do, you'll soon forget a stranger you've only met a few times.
I had no other intentions; I just found it amusing to tease such a quiet child. His face flushed, and he buried himself in the blankets, using silence to refute me: "..."
I added, "You should be in school by now, right? Do your teachers give you assignments? Like homework, tests, memorizing things, and the like?"
He nodded hesitantly.
I said, "Won't you get scolded by the teacher if you don't finish the task? Even though it's a private conversation, it's still very upsetting. Would you be upset in that situation?"
He nodded and then shook his head.
I didn't know what he meant, so I guessed and asked, "Do you want to know who taught you a lesson?"
nod.
I chuckled to myself: "If it were me, well, if the headmistress scolded you, would you be unhappy?"
I'm not that familiar with him, so let's not make jokes like that.
He poked his head out from under the covers, his round eyes fixed on me. After a moment of deep thought, he said, "I'm not happy."
I saw that the corners of his mouth turned down slightly, and he used his expressive facial muscles to fully convey his displeasure.
"How adorable obedient children are," I thought. I continued, "Like before, when you didn't cooperate with me and made it impossible for me to complete the doctor's task, the doctor would scold me. Look, I'm already quite old, almost twenty, more than ten years older than you. It's so embarrassing to be scolded at my age." I mimicked his burying his face in the blanket, placing my own face in my palms—"resting my chin on my hand" would be a more apt description. "Clumsy as ever, all you've gotten is age and not brains."
He said blankly, "Not more than ten years. I'm ten years old this year."
He didn't even refute my last statement.
I was genuinely about to purse my lips in displeasure, even more so than him. I could clearly see his pupils dilate in shock. The sick child quickly asked me, "What's wrong? Are you unhappy?"
When the doctor returned with the medicine and saw this scene, he said, "Qinghe, what's wrong with you? Why are you making that child comfort you instead?"
I wanted to speak sweetly and affectionately, but the words stuck in my head. I could say something normal, though, so I reluctantly said, "This way, we can get along better. Don't you think so, little one?"
He took the medicine and water from the doctor and gulped it all down in one go. He wiped his mouth and said, "My name is Yayoi." He pronounced it, "This 'Yayoi'."
“I took a cold shower yesterday,” he continued, barely pausing for breath. “It was too late yesterday, and I didn’t want to bother the aunt, so I took a cold shower and went to sleep with my hair wet.”
"Oh dear, it's not even that cold yet, but the temperature keeps fluctuating, and sleeping with wet hair, you're really getting all sorts of bad luck." The doctor grumbled. "Yayoi, Yayoi... found her. I'll write it down for you... Remember to come back this afternoon, three times a day, I'm afraid your child will forget to eat if she's having too much fun."
He listened quietly with his eyes lowered. My heart softened, so I patted his head and whispered, "Would you like me to pick some flowers for you?"
His eyes lit up immediately. He's still a child at heart. I took out a tissue and waved it in front of him with a hint of smugness: "Just wait, it'll turn into a flower soon."
My craftsmanship isn't great, and the final product was crooked and uneven, but at least you could make out the outline of the flower. I placed the rose into his palm, filling the gap where it hadn't closed properly. Seeing him carefully unsure how to handle it, I turned to the doctor and said, "I'll go out and do other things now. You're busy, I'll come back to see him this afternoon."
The doctor casually agreed. I left him there without worry, but I never expected that I wouldn't come back today.
To be precise, the story begins the moment I stepped out of the infirmary.
I ran into that anthropology student again. He greeted me happily once more, and once again, I couldn't remember his name at all.
"Why did you end up in the infirmary?" he asked me nervously. "Is it because of the wound on your neck? Does it hurt?"
I don't even know when we became so close. But I can't just respond to someone's concern with indifference; that would be unfair to them, even if I'm slightly annoyed.
I said, "Thank you for your concern, but I just brought a sick child over."
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