When Kanade awoke, sunlight was squeezing through the gaps in the curtains, drawing a golden line on the floor before the bed.
It had been a long time since he had woken to such light. Those laboratory rooms had no windows, only ever-bright fluorescent lamps and the constant hum of air conditioning. He stared at that golden line for a long time, until his eyes ached from the glare, before finally looking away.
The room was quiet. No footsteps, no voices, no people in white coats coming and going. Only the occasional chirping of birds from outside the window and the faint sound of distant traffic.
He tried to sit up, and a sharp pain immediately shot through his back. He gritted his teeth, making no sound. Bandages were still wrapped around his body, neatly applied—far better than the haphazard wrappings he had done himself before. He looked down—white strips of cloth, wound from his chest all the way to his back and shoulder, tied at the side where it didn't dig in.
On the small table beside the bed were a cup of water and some pills. The water was lukewarm, and the pills were portioned out by dose, wrapped in a slip of paper. On the paper, written in neat handwriting, were the words: "Anti-inflammatory medicine. Take after meals."
He turned the paper over. The back was blank. Just those few words—no signature, no extra instructions. He set the paper aside, picked up the pills, and swallowed them with the water. The water slid down his throat with a faint sweetness, as if a little honey had been added.
The door opened.
Instinctively, he tensed, his hand gripping the bedsheet. But the person who entered didn't look at him, simply placing something on the table before turning to open the window.
It was the person who had saved him that night.
Today, Nangong Wentian wasn't wearing the wet clothes from that day, but had changed into an ordinary gray T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Sunlight fell on him, making his figure appear faint in the light. He looked younger than he had that night—no, it should be said that he was naturally young. Just an ordinary teenager, older than Kanade, but not by much.
Kanade stared at his back without speaking.
Nangong Wentian opened the window wide, letting fresh air flood in. Then he walked to the table and took out what he had brought—a bowl of porridge, a small dish of side dishes, and a cup of warm milk.
"Awake?" he asked, his voice calm, as if speaking to a roommate he lived with.
Kanade didn't answer.
Nangong Wentian didn't seem to mind. He placed the food on the small table beside the bed, then sat down in the chair opposite, opened a rather strange-looking portable terminal, and began to work.
The room fell quiet again.
Kanade looked at the bowl of porridge. Plain rice porridge, cooked thick, with a few green vegetable leaves floating on top—it looked rather bland. But his stomach growled, empty for two days and protesting loudly. He hesitated for a moment, then picked up the bowl and scooped a spoonful.
The porridge was warm, not hot, just right to eat. The rice grains were cooked soft, almost dissolving without needing to be chewed. He took two mouthfuls, then paused, looking toward Nangong Wentian.
The person was typing on the keyboard facing the screen, his fingers moving quickly as numbers and symbols he couldn't understand flashed across the display. His expression was focused, as if he were doing something very important. But every now and then, he would look up at Kanade to make sure he was still eating, then lower his head and continue working.
Kanade lowered his head and kept eating the porridge. He finished the bowl and ate the side dishes as well. He hesitated for a moment before drinking the milk. The warm milk slid down his throat into his stomach, bringing with it a strange sensation—as if something was slowly dissolving inside his body.
He placed the empty bowl back on the table, then leaned against the headboard and watched Nangong Wentian work.
He couldn't understand what was on the screen, but he noticed that the terminal's casing showed clear signs of modification—the ventilation holes were several times more numerous than those on a standard model, and it was connected to several strange peripherals. This wasn't an ordinary computer; it was a meticulously modified device.
"What are you doing?" he asked, his voice hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time.
Nangong Wentian looked up. "Working."
"What kind of work?"
"Technical consulting," Nangong Wentian said. "Helping small companies solve technical problems to earn some money."
Kanade fell silent for a moment. "How old are you?"
"Fourteen."
A year older than him. Kanade looked at this fourteen-year-old boy, and a strange feeling welled up inside him. Fourteen, almost the same age as him, yet already capable of living independently, earning money, and calmly rescuing a stranger on a stormy night.
"Do you live alone?"
"Yes."
"What about your family?"
Nangong Wentian's fingers paused briefly. "They're all in the orphanage."
Kanade was taken aback. He looked into Nangong Wentian's eyes, searching for something—sympathy, shared hardship, or anything else. But there was nothing there, only a calm, resolute light.
"Me too," he said softly. "I've been in the laboratory since I can remember."
Nangong Wentian didn't press further. He simply nodded and continued working. Kanade stared at him, a strange feeling rising in his heart. This person didn't ask who he was, who his pursuers were, or why he was injured. He just saved him, took care of him, and then went on with his life as if nothing had happened.
"How did you know about me?" he finally asked.
"People in tech always have their ways," Nangong Wentian replied without looking up.
"Aren't you afraid I might be a bad person?"
"If you were a bad person, you wouldn't have been lying here for three days."
Three days. Kanade was stunned. Had he been lying here for three days? He tried to recall, but his memories were hazy. Only fragments remained—the rainstorm, running, falling, being carried on someone's back, and then a long, dark void.
"Those medicines…" he remembered the pills on the table. "Did you buy them?"
"Yes. Your wounds were infected, so you needed anti-inflammatory drugs."
"What about the money?"
"I have it."
Kanade fell silent. He looked out the window. The sunlight was bright, shining on the opposite wall and reflecting a glaring white light. It had been a long time since he had seen such light. The laboratories had no windows, only lights that were always on. The people in white coats said natural light was bad for test subjects—it would affect the stability of the data.
"Why did you save me?" he asked, his voice low.
Nangong Wentian's fingers paused. He looked up at Kanade. Those eyes were bright in the sunlight, holding something Kanade couldn't understand.
"Just because I wanted to," he said. "It's that simple."
"That simple?"
"That simple."
Kanade stared at him for a long time, trying to find lies, concealment, or some ulterior motive in his gaze. But he found nothing. Only a very calm, very sincere light.
He shifted his gaze to the window.
"I never trusted anyone before," he said softly. "In the lab, the people in white coats said they would take care of me, then strapped me to a chair and electrocuted me. They said they would give me freedom, then injected me with who knows what."
Nangong Wentian didn't speak, just listened.
"Later, I escaped. People outside weren't trustworthy either. They saw what I looked like and knew I was a Coordinator. Some were afraid, some disgusted, some wanted to capture me for a reward." His voice grew quieter and quieter. "No one... no one ever helped just because someone needed help."
The room was quiet. Bird calls came from outside the window, crisp and clear, one after another.
"Now there is," Nangong Wentian said.
Kanade turned his head to look at him. The young man had already gone back to work, his fingers typing rapidly on the keyboard as if rushing to meet some deadline. Sunlight fell on him, enveloping him in a faint halo.
Kanade watched him, feeling something slowly loosen inside his heart. Like a block of ice beginning to melt in the sunlight. Slowly, but surely melting.
He didn't speak again, just leaned against the headboard and looked out the window. The sunlight grew brighter, illuminating every corner of the room. Those dark, damp, forgotten corners were all lit up.
At noon, Nangong Wentian put down his computer and stood up.
"Hungry?"
Kanade shook his head. But Nangong Wentian still brought over a bowl of noodles and placed it on the table. The noodles were simple, with just a few pieces of greens and a fried egg. But they were steaming hot, and their aroma filled the room.
"Eat a little," Nangong Wentian said. "Your body needs nutrients."
Kanade looked at the bowl of noodles, hesitated for a moment, then picked up his chopsticks. The noodles were slippery; he dropped them several times trying to pick them up. Nangong Wentian didn't help him, just sat quietly across the table, waiting.
Finally, he managed to pick up a mouthful and put it in his mouth. The noodles were salty, with a hint of soy sauce flavor. He hadn't eaten anything like this in a long time. In the lab, there were only nutrient solutions—no taste, no warmth, just fuel to sustain life.
He ate bite by bite, finishing the entire bowl. He drank the soup too, turning the bowl upside down. When he put the bowl down, he saw a faint smile at the corner of Nangong Wentian's mouth. It wasn't mocking or pitying, just a natural, happy smile.
"Thank you," he said.
It was the first time he had thanked this person. Nangong Wentian shook his head, picked up the empty bowl, and went to wash it. The sound of running water from the faucet splashed loudly, and sunlight refracted tiny rainbows in the spray.
Kanade leaned against the headboard, watching the figure washing dishes in the kitchen. His eyes felt a bit sore, but he didn't cry. It had been a long time since he last cried. Back in the laboratory, the people in white coats said test subjects couldn't cry—it would affect the data. Later, after he escaped and wandered the streets, getting chased and beaten, he still didn't cry. Because he knew crying was useless; no one would stop their fists just because of your tears.
But now, in this small room, watching a strange young man washing dishes in the kitchen, his eyes suddenly stung fiercely.
"Kanade," Nangong Wentian said calmly, "if you have nowhere to go, you can stay here for now. As you can see, I'm the only one here."
Kanade lowered his head. This was the first time he felt that his name, spoken by someone else, wasn't a cold code but a real name.
Outside the window, the sun slowly shifted westward, its light turning from gold to orange, bathing the two of them. One sat on the bed, the other stood at the kitchen doorway, separated by the length of the room, yet closer than anyone Kanade had ever been near in his life.
"Nangong," he called out again.
"Hmm?"
"...It's nothing." He turned to look out the window. "I just wanted to say it."
Nangong Wentian smiled but didn't press further. He dried his hands, sat back in his chair, and continued working. The room grew quiet again, but this quiet was different from before. It used to be hollow and cold, but now there was something in it that made the quiet feel soft.
Kanade leaned against the headboard, gazing at the sky outside. The sky was blue, the clouds white, and birds were flying. He had never looked at the sky like this before, never thought the sky could be so beautiful.
He closed his eyes, a faint smile curling at the corners of his mouth.
This was the first time since leaving the laboratory that he felt living wasn't so bad.
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