puzzle
Qingran seemed somewhat dissatisfied with the distance he had stopped. She tilted her head slightly, looked at Qi Shuo, then at her outstretched hand, and then softly uttered those two words again, this time a little more coherent than before, but also softer, more like an unconscious murmur:
"elder brother?"
It is neither a question nor a call.
Is it more like a...confirmation? Or is it just practice in addressing this particular person, something she's just learned?
Qi Shuo's breathing became completely erratic. He stared at her, his eyes unblinking, as if the blink of an eye would cause everything before him to burst and vanish like a soap bubble.
He saw his pale, taut face reflected in her clear eyes. He saw her gaze slowly move down from his face and land once more on his hand.
Then, she did something that completely froze Qi Shuo.
She didn't retract her outstretched little hand, but continued forward, very slowly, with a childlike, tentative hesitation, gently, very gently, touching the back of Qi Shuo's tightly clenched fist hanging by his side.
The fingertips felt cool and soft.
The touch was like the lightest snowflake landing on burning skin, melting instantly, yet leaving a cool and clear trail.
Qi Shuo shuddered violently, as if struck by an electric current. He almost involuntarily pulled his hand back, but his remaining rationality held him back tightly.
He forced himself to stand stiffly and motionless, letting that slightly cool little hand, full of curiosity, gently and repeatedly touch the back of his hand and his knuckles, as if exploring a novel object he had never encountered before.
Her touch was haphazard, simply sensing the texture of his skin, its temperature, and the shape of his bones. Occasionally, her fingertips would unconsciously curl up, brushing against the back of his hand and causing a slight itch.
Qi Shuo lowered his head, looking at the little hand that was "making trouble" on the back of his hand, at her focused and calm profile, and at the small section of her fair and delicate neck that was exposed when she lowered her head.
An overwhelming sense of sorrow and a near-overwhelming tenderness engulfed him like a tsunami. His eyes instantly turned red, and scalding tears welled up inside, threatening to burst forth.
He bit down hard on the inside of his mouth, using the sharp pain to fight off the surging tears. He couldn't cry. Absolutely not. It would frighten her.
It's unclear how much time passed—perhaps only a few dozen seconds, or perhaps an eternity. Qingran seemed to have "studied" enough; she withdrew her hand and hugged her rabbit doll back to her.
Then, she raised her eyes and looked at Qi Shuo again, her gaze landing on his face. This time, her gaze lingered longer, as if she were trying to recognize him, or perhaps just feeling lost.
Qi Shuo tried, very slowly, to twitch the corners of his mouth. He attempted to force a smile, a gentle, harmless smile that wouldn't frighten her. But he wasn't sure if his expression was successful; perhaps it looked worse than crying.
Qingran stared at his contorted expression without reacting. She simply blinked, then looked away, her gaze falling on the bedside table.
There, there was an unopened box of large children's puzzle pieces, which Xiao Jue had just bought a few days ago. The puzzle pieces featured brightly colored forest animals.
She looked at the puzzle, then at Qi Shuo, then back at the puzzle. After repeating this several times, she pointed to the puzzle box, then at Qi Shuo, and then uttered a mumbled syllable:
"Um."
A simple, nasal sound indicating her desire, combined with her gesture, made the meaning crystal clear—she wanted to play the puzzle, and wanted him... to play with her?
Qi Shuo followed her finger and saw the puzzle box.
He paused for a moment, then understood her meaning. A tremendous, apprehensive joy gripped him instantly. She… was inviting him? Inviting him to play together? What did this mean? Did it mean she accepted his advances? Did it mean she no longer saw him entirely as a "stranger" she needed to be wary of?
Overwhelming elation nearly overwhelmed his reason, but he forced it back down. He couldn't get excited, he couldn't lose his composure. He had to remain calm, he had to be as Xiao Jue had instructed: calm, gentle, and harmless.
He nodded very slowly and stiffly. Then he walked to the bedside table and picked up the puzzle box. His knuckles turned white from the effort.
He walked back to the bedside, but did not sit down immediately. Instead, he looked at Qingran for advice, asking her with his eyes if it was alright.
Qingran did not object; she simply held the rabbit and watched him quietly.
Qi Shuo then very carefully sat down on the chair by the bed, only sitting on one side, his body slightly turned towards Qing Ran, maintaining a distance that would not make her feel pressured.
He opened the puzzle box and poured the colorful puzzle pieces into the small tray that came with it. The wooden puzzle pieces were large with rounded edges, making them easy for children to grasp.
He picked up a puzzle piece; it was green, like a leaf. He looked at Qingran, then at the scattered pieces, unsure how to begin.
He had never had such an experience before—playing with a "little sister" whose mind was still that of a child and who had experienced great trauma. For him, this was a more arduous challenge than any physical or mental work.
Qingran seemed to sense his helplessness. She released the rabbit she was holding, reached out her little hand, fiddled with the tray for a few moments, and picked up a yellow puzzle piece with a little duck's head drawn on it. She looked at it, then placed it on the edge of the tray, in an empty space. Then, she looked up at Qi Shuo, and then at the green "leaf" in his hand.
Qi Shuo had a sudden inspiration. He took the "leaf" and tentatively placed it next to the duck's head. The patterns didn't match, but the positions seemed... somewhat related?
Qingran neither agreed nor disagreed, but continued searching in the tray. This time, she found a puzzle piece with a blue river pattern. She picked it up, looked at it, and then placed it on the other side of the "leaves".
And so began an extremely slow, quiet, and even somewhat clumsy "cooperation." Qi Shuo followed Qing Ran's rhythm completely.
She picked up a piece, and he followed suit, observing where she placed it, trying to understand the "blueprint" she was building—if it could be called a blueprint.
Most of the time, she just places them randomly, seemingly enjoying the process of touching the blocks of different colors and shapes, rather than really caring about piecing together a complete pattern.
Qi Shuo didn't care. All his attention was focused on the small, focused profile in front of him.
He watched her slightly furrowed brows, her eyes glistening as she found a "suitable" puzzle piece, her unconsciously pouting lips, and her slender fingers clumsily but earnestly arranging the puzzle pieces...
Every subtle expression, every small movement, is like the most precise carving knife, deeply engraved in his eyes and in his heart.
The sunlight moved quietly, slowly creeping from one end of the bed to the other.
The ward was extremely quiet, with only the occasional soft "clatter" of puzzle pieces colliding and the two people's shallow, almost inaudible breathing.
Time loses its meaning here, leaving only this small, sun-drenched world, and between it and the two people, one large and one small, connected in such a peculiar and fragile way.
In this almost sacred atmosphere, Qi Shuo's heart gradually calmed down. The initial shock, elation, and fear gradually subsided, replaced by a deep, almost painful peace, and an unprecedented, almost pious tenderness.
He stopped trying to "teach" her anything, and stopped thinking about the "correct" way to spell it. He just stayed with her, watched her, and when she needed it, handed her a puzzle piece that seemed to be what she was looking for, or silently encouraged her with his eyes when she was fiddling with a puzzle for too long.
After some time, Qingran seemed a little tired. She yawned slightly, rubbed her eyes, and the puzzle piece in her hand fell into the tray with a "thud".
She tilted her head, looking at the "work" in front of her that she had created but which made no sense at all—green "leaves" next to the duckling's head, a blue "river" next to a red "mushroom," and a brown, tree-trunk-like thing standing alone in the distance—and then she seemed to lose interest.
She turned her head and looked at Qi Shuo. This time, her gaze lingered on his face for longer than ever before.
Sunlight streamed in from behind her, casting a golden halo around her eyelashes and a soft shadow beneath her eyes. Her eyes were clear and pure, like two springs untouched by any dust or pollution.
She gazed at Qi Shuo with those eyes for a very long time.
Then, very slowly, she turned up the corners of her mouth towards him, revealing a very faint, almost invisible curve.
It wasn't a genuine, hearty smile. It wasn't even a smile. It was more like an unconscious muscle twitch, a relaxation born of focused concentration, or simply an illusion created by the light. But it was undeniably on her face. Facing him.
He held his breath, his eyes fixed on that fleeting, tiny arc, as if trying to imprint it into the depths of his soul.
Blood roared in his ears, the world faded and receded in an instant, leaving only the faint light on the pale little face in front of him, as fragile as morning dew, yet enough to illuminate his entire gray world.
Then, Qingran looked away, picked up her rabbit doll again, gently buried her face in the rabbit's soft fur, and closed her eyes. Long eyelashes fell, casting quiet shadows on her pale skin. She seemed... to be asleep.
Qi Shuo remained seated, motionless. He maintained that posture, gazing at the sleeping girl's profile. Warm sunlight enveloped her, and him as well. The jigsaw puzzle pieces scattered on the tray, frozen into an absurd yet heartwarming scene.
Qi Shuo was jolted awake from his almost frozen state when he heard the caregiver's light footsteps and humming tune in the corridor again.
As if waking from a deep dream, he slowly, extremely slowly exhaled a breath he had been holding for who knows how long. Then, with gentle movements, he carefully gathered the scattered puzzle pieces into the box and closed it.
After doing all this, he stood up, took one last deep look at the sleeping girl on the bed, turned around, and quietly left the ward, just as he had come in, gently closing the door behind him.
The moment the door closed, it shut out the warm sunlight and peaceful sleeping face from inside. The cold air of the corridor enveloped him again. Qi Shuo leaned against the cold door, slowly sliding down it and burying his face deeply, deeply in his knees.
This time, he didn't hold back. Scalding liquid gushed out, instantly soaking the fabric around his knees. There was no sound, only his shoulders trembling uncontrollably.
It was a mixture of extreme ecstasy, heartbreak, gratitude, humility, and immense happiness—tears so complex they defied description. For that indistinct "brother," for that tiny touch, for that almost invisible arc, for that stolen, brief, yet incredibly precious, dreamlike afternoon.
He knew that this might not mean anything. It was just a fleeting, unconscious moment when a closed heart opened up, a lonely child's instinctive longing for companionship, or perhaps just a trivial, transient fragment of her illness.
Tomorrow, she might forget everything from today and look at him again with that unfamiliar and bewildered gaze.
But so what?
At least at this moment, the sun was shining brightly, she reached out her hand to him, and she gave him a smile.
At least, at this moment, across nine years of blood, tears, life and death, and oblivion, he touched his sister once again.
It wasn't through cold glass, nor through a hopeless dream, but truly, sitting beside her, breathing the same air, sharing a quiet moment so quiet that only the clicking of puzzle pieces could be heard.
That's enough.
It was enough for him to savor and absorb that faint but real sweetness repeatedly in the long, possibly still dark, years to come.
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