Shattered Window

Chapter 14: Desperate Tenderness, He Clumsily Guards Her with Fever

Shen Zhi finished the bowl of congee, handed the bowl to him, said "thank you," and lay back down.

Yuanzhou washed the bowl and stood in the kitchen, staring out the window for a while. The rain was still falling — not heavy, but steady, fine droplets pattering against the glass. He pulled out his phone and glanced at the calendar. Nineteen days left on his visa. In nineteen days, he hadn't even landed a single interview. He'd sent out seven applications last week — three rejections, four ignored. One had actually replied, saying "Thank you for your interest, but we do not currently offer H1B sponsorship." A form response, not even bothering to change the name.

He shoved the phone back in his pocket and didn't let himself dwell on it. Now wasn't the time. Shen Zhi was still burning up.

He went back to Shen Zhi's room. The door wasn't fully closed, so he pushed it open a crack and looked in. Shen Zhi was lying on her side, facing the window, the blanket wrapped tightly around her. On the nightstand sat the half‑drunk glass of water and the fever reducer.

Yuanzhou went to the kitchen and pulled a piece of ginger from the fridge. Old Zhou had given it to him a couple of days ago, saying "make soup with it to chase away the damp." He hadn't used it. The ginger skin was a little wrinkled, but it wasn't spoiled.

He washed the ginger, sliced it, and threw the slices into a pot of water to boil. When the water came to a boil, the sharp ginger smell burst out, making him sneeze. He added two spoonfuls of brown sugar, stirred, and turned off the heat.

Carrying the ginger tea to Shen Zhi's room, he knocked on the doorframe.

"Shen Zhi, drink some ginger tea."

Shen Zhi rolled over, looked at him, didn't speak, and pushed herself up to sit. Her movements were still very slow — she didn't dare put weight on her left leg, using her hands to push against the mattress and inch her way up.

Yuanzhou handed her the ginger tea. Shen Zhi took it, lowered her head to smell it, and frowned.

"Spicy," she said.

"I used a lot of ginger. But it works."

She blew on it, took a small sip, paused, then took a bigger gulp. After finishing, she handed the bowl back. Her lips had a faint sheen of moisture, and her complexion looked a little better.

"Too much sugar," she said.

"A little sweetness makes it taste better."

"Too sweet."

"I'll use less next time."

Shen Zhi glanced at him but didn't respond. Yuanzhou noticed, however, that the corner of her mouth twitched. It wasn't a smile, but it was close.

He took the bowl away, and on his way back he closed Shen Zhi's window. The wind couldn't get in anymore, and the room grew a little warmer.

"You should go back to work," Shen Zhi said. "I'm fine now."

"I took the day off."

"Doesn't Old Zhou mind?"

"He said to take care of my roommate."

Shen Zhi was quiet for a few seconds. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing much. Just that you had a fever."

Shen Zhi didn't ask again. She pulled the blanket up higher, turned onto her side, and faced away from him.

Yuanzhou stood in the doorway, not sure whether to stay or go.

"Lin Yuanzhou." Shen Zhi's voice was muffled by the pillow.

"Yeah?"

"Aren't you supposed to be making deliveries?"

"Not today."

"What about your visa—"

"Not today." Yuanzhou cut her off. "I'll go when your fever breaks."

Shen Zhi didn't say anything more.

Yuanzhou sat in the living room, opened his notebook to draw, but after a few strokes he couldn't concentrate. His head was full of what Shen Zhi had said just now — "your visa." She remembered about his visa. He'd thought she never paid attention.

—

A little after two in the afternoon, Yuanzhou went to Shen Zhi's room to take her temperature. 37.6°C (99.7°F) — down a bit, but still a fever.

He made congee and stir‑fried some greens — light, just a pinch of salt. He brought the food to her nightstand. Shen Zhi sat up and looked at it.

"You don't have to do all this."

"I have to eat too."

Shen Zhi picked up her chopsticks, took a bite of the greens, and chewed.

"Not salty," she said.

"Of course not. You said last time was too salty."

Shen Zhi didn't answer, but she finished the whole bowl of congee and all the greens.

When Yuanzhou was clearing the bowls, Shen Zhi suddenly spoke.

"These past few days... have you been looking for me?"

Yuanzhou paused. "No. I just sent a few messages."

"Tina told me. You asked her where I went."

"I was worried about you."

Shen Zhi lowered her head, her finger tracing absent patterns on the blanket.

"You shouldn't worry about me," she said.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm not even a friend."

Yuanzhou looked at her. "You're my roommate."

"Roommates aren't friends either."

"I don't care. If a roommate goes missing, I still look for them."

Shen Zhi looked up at him. Her gaze had no thorns, no coldness. It was something more like... confusion. As if she didn't understand why he would do this.

"You're a strange person," she said.

"What's strange about me?"

"You're about to lose your place here yourself, and you're worried about someone else."

Yuanzhou paused. She was right. His visa had only nineteen days left. He didn't know how long he could keep the apartment. He had no job. His savings were nearly gone. But he couldn't let go.

"It's a habit," he said.

Shen Zhi didn't say anything more.

—

By seven in the evening, Yuanzhou took her temperature again. 37.2°C (99°F) — the fever had basically broken.

"You should be fine by tomorrow," he said.

Shen Zhi nodded.

Yuanzhou went to the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and set it on her nightstand. Then he turned to go back to his own room.

"Lin Yuanzhou." Shen Zhi called him.

"Yeah?"

"You... spent the whole day taking care of me."

"Yeah."

"Don't you need to look for work yourself?"

Yuanzhou was quiet for a moment. "I've been applying. Waiting to hear back."

"Didn't you say you only had nineteen days left?"

"Yes."

"Then you—"

"Shen Zhi." Yuanzhou interrupted her. "Stop worrying about my problems. Just focus on getting better."

Shen Zhi looked at him, her lips moving as if she wanted to say something. But nothing came out.

"Good night," Yuanzhou said, and went to his room.

He lay on his bed, pulled out his phone, and scrolled through job listings again. No new messages. His inbox was empty — not even spam.

He tossed the phone aside and stared at the ceiling.

Nineteen days.

He closed his eyes.

The room next door was very quiet. No crying. No sounds of pain. Shen Zhi must have fallen asleep.

He rolled over.

He'd think about tomorrow when it came.

—

The next morning, Yuanzhou got up at six.

He went to check on Shen Zhi. She was still asleep, breathing steadily, her forehead cool to the touch. He felt her temperature — the fever was gone.

He went to the kitchen, made a pot of congee, and sliced some pickled vegetables. Old Zhou had given them to him, said he'd made them himself, very crunchy.

When the congee was ready, he scooped a bowl, placed it on Shen Zhi's nightstand, and tucked a note underneath: "Congee's ready. Leave the bowl when you're done — I'll wash it later."

Then he changed clothes, grabbed his keys, and went to work.

At Old Zhou's restaurant, Old Zhou was prepping ingredients. When he saw Yuanzhou come in, he looked him up and down.

"Your roommate better?"

"Fever broke."

"Good." Old Zhou tossed him an apron. "Lots of orders today. You'll be running around plenty."

"Got it."

Yuanzhou put on the apron, got on the scooter, and started the day's grind.

At lunchtime, he found a moment to text Shen Zhi: "Did you take your medicine?"

A few minutes later, Shen Zhi replied: "Yes."

Two words. But when Yuanzhou saw them, the corner of his mouth still turned up.

She sent another: "Finished the congee."

Yuanzhou replied: "Good."

A little after three in the afternoon, he finished a delivery, pulled over by the side of the road, and checked his phone. Shen Zhi had sent another message: "Are you coming home for dinner tonight?"

Yuanzhou's fingers paused. This was the first time Shen Zhi had ever asked if he was coming home to eat.

He typed back: "Yes. What do you want to eat?"

"Whatever."

"Whatever" again. But this time Yuanzhou felt that "whatever" was different. Before, "whatever" meant "leave me alone." This time, it meant "you decide."

He thought for a moment, then replied: "Egg fried rice?"

"Yes."

One word. But he smiled.

—

By eight in the evening, Yuanzhou was back at the bookstore. When he went upstairs, Shen Zhi was sitting on the living room sofa. She'd already showered and changed into clean clothes. Her hair was tied back, revealing the scar on her left cheek. Her complexion was still a little pale, but much better than the last two days.

"You're not lying down?" Yuanzhou asked.

"I lay down all day. My back hurts."

Yuanzhou laughed a little and went to the kitchen to make egg fried rice.

As he was cracking the eggs, Shen Zhi walked over and leaned against the kitchen doorframe, watching him.

"How many deliveries did you do today?" she asked.

"Twenty‑three."

"Tired?"

"Not too bad."

"What about your visa..." Shen Zhi hesitated. "Any news?"

Yuanzhou flipped the wok. "No."

Shen Zhi was quiet for a few seconds. "I have a friend. An immigration lawyer."

Yuanzhou's hand paused. "What?"

"Nothing. Just make the food first."

Yuanzhou glanced at her but didn't press. He scooped the egg fried rice into bowls and brought them to the coffee table.

The two of them sat on the sofa, about a meter apart, each eating their own.

Shen Zhi took her first bite and stopped.

"Today's is good too," she said.

Yuanzhou looked at her. "What's with you today? You've complimented me twice."

Shen Zhi lowered her head and continued shoveling rice.

"Just stating facts," she said.

Yuanzhou smiled.

Outside, the rain had let up considerably, just a light drizzle.

Seattle's rainy season was long, but occasionally it cleared up for a little while.

Yuanzhou leaned back on the sofa, watching Shen Zhi eat with her head down.

Eighteen days left on his visa.

He told himself: don't think about it today.

Today was good.