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Saturday. 10:12 AM. Apartment.
Their apartment. Her plants. His books. The couch with the broken spring.
Ruan Zhi stood in the doorway. “Smells like us.”
Gu Yanhuai carried her bag. Set it down. “Bed or couch?”
“Shower first.” She looked at him. “You too. You still stink.”
He laughed. Real. “Yes, boss.”
She could stand. Barely. He set a stool in the shower. Helped her undress. Kept his eyes on her face, not the line of tape over her ribs.
“Stop hovering,” she said. “I’m not glass.”
“You were two days ago.”
“Not now.” She tugged his shirt. “Get in. Save water.”
He did.
They didn’t talk. Just water. Just steam. Just his hands washing her hair because she couldn’t lift her arms that high.
His fingers were gentle. Careful of the IV bruises on the back of her hand. Careful of everything.
“Gu Yanhuai,” she said, eyes closed. “If I fall—”
“I’ll catch you.”
“I know. That’s the problem. You always do. What if I want to fall?”
“Then I’ll sit on the floor with you.”
She opened her eyes. “Sap.”
“You started it.”
After, he dressed her in his shirt. Too big. Went to her knees. She looked twelve. And his.
He carried her to the bed. Laid her down. Pillows propped behind her back. 45 degrees. Doctor’s orders.
She slept until 3:00 PM. He sat on the floor. Back to the bed. _The Little Prince_ in his hands. Not reading. Just holding. Her copy. Dog-eared. Notes in the margins from 2014.
At 3:01 PM, she woke up. “You’re on the floor.”
“Bed’s yours.”
“Idiot.” She patted the mattress. “Up. Now. Doctor said rest. That means you too.”
He climbed in. She fit herself to his side. Careful. Her head on his chest, under his chin. Listening. His heart was fast. Always fast now.
“Lin Wei texted,” he said. “Board voted. Liu is interim CEO.”
“Good.” Her fingers traced the collar of his shirt. “You need a break. Forty-four hours is illegal.”
“I slept last night.”
“Three hours. I counted.”
He turned his head. “You counted?”
“Your breathing changes.” She shrugged. Winced. “I know it.”
He pulled her closer. “I’m sorry. For ten years.”
“Stop.” She put her fingers on his mouth. “You sat in the chair. That’s all I wanted. You’re here now.”
“Now and always.”
He said it like a vow. Like a contract. Like something he’d sign in blood if she asked.
4:30 PM. Mrs. Chen showed up. No knock. Just keys. She had keys.
“Brought soup,” she said. “And dumplings. Again. Because he’ll forget to feed you.”
“I won’t,” Gu Yanhuai said.
“You will.” Mrs. Chen pointed at the couch. “Sit. Eat. Both of you. I’ll water the dead plants.”
Ruan Zhi ate half a bowl. Chicken. Ginger. No oil. Hospital rules. “This is better than hospital.”
“Everything is better than hospital,” Mrs. Chen said. “Except him leaving. He doesn’t do that again.”
“I won’t,” Gu Yanhuai said.
Mrs. Chen studied him. Nodded. “Good. She’d kill you if you did.”
She left at 5:15 PM. Took the trash. Left the spare key on the counter. “In case you lock yourselves out. Fools.”
6:00 PM. Ruan Zhi tried to walk to the kitchen. Made it halfway.
Gu Yanhuai didn’t help. Just walked beside her. One hand hovering at her back. Not touching. Ready.
She got water. Sat at the table. “I’m a toddler.”
“You’re a badass who had her chest cracked open four days ago.” He sat across from her. “Toddlers don’t survive lobectomies.”
“Fair point.” She smiled. Small. Tired. “Still hate it.”
“I know.”
At 8:00 PM, Lin Wei called.
“Press is calling you the Mad CEO,” he said. “Who gave up 40B for a girl.”
“She’s not a girl,” Gu Yanhuai said. Ruan Zhi was listening, head on his lap. Playing with his fingers. “She’s my wife.”
Ruan Zhi’s eyes went wide.
Lin Wei paused. “Noted. Do I correct the record?”
“No.” He looked down. “She is. If she’ll have me.”
Ruan Zhi sat up. Too fast. Hissed. Hand to her ribs. “You don’t just—”
“Marry me,” he said. “Not for the 40B. Not for Yun Ding. Because I sat in the chair. Because I’ll sit in every chair from now on. Because family stays.”
She stared. Then she punched his arm. Weak. “You ask me that… after surgery? When I can’t even… hit you right?”
“Is that a no?”
“It’s a ‘you owe me a real ring and a real question when I can breathe.’” She lay back down. “But yeah. i***t. Yes.”
He exhaled. Like he’d been holding it since 7:43 AM Thursday.
9:30 PM. She was tired. Pain was back. A four. She wouldn’t say it. He saw it in her jaw.
“Pills,” he said.
“Don’t want them. They make me fuzzy.”
“Take them. Or I call Dr. Zhang.”
She glared. Took them. “Bully.”
“Only for you.”
At 12:03 AM, she was asleep.
He was awake.
He texted Lin Wei: _Buy the dumpling stall. All of it. Put it in her name._
Lin Wei: _Already started. Mrs. Chen cried. Said she’d been saving the deed. For you two. Since 2014._
Gu Yanhuai set the phone down.
Ruan Zhi was breathing. In. Out.
He counted each one.
Outside, Port Harcourt was quiet. No machines. No monitors. Just her. Just home.
He put _The Little Prince_ on the nightstand. Opened it to Chapter 21. The fox. _You become responsible, forever, for what you have tamed._
He’d tamed nothing. She’d tamed him.
And he was responsible. Forever.
He closed his eyes. Didn’t sleep.
Listened instead.
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