Fu Yanqing’s palm wasn’t badly injured, but it wasn’t exactly minor either.

The scraped patch of skin wasn’t large, yet it happened to be right at the base of his right hand, so every time he gripped something it would tug at the wound. When he rinsed the injury in the bathroom, it didn’t hurt much; only after the water dried and the wound was exposed to the air did a sharp, throbbing pain begin to set in.

He rummaged through the cabinet for a Band-aid / adhesive bandage, tore off a strip, and clumsily tried to stick it onto his palm. The bandage ended up crooked, so he peeled it off and re-applied it—only to have it crooked again. Frowning, he made a third attempt, but his finger slipped, and the bandage fell into the sink.

He stared at the soaked bandage for two seconds.

Then there was a knock on the door.

“Fu Yanqing?” Su Xingyu’s voice came from outside, muffled through the wooden door. “Are you in there?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve hurt your hand. Let me take care of it for you.”

Fu Yanqing glanced at his palm, which he’d already tried to bandage three times without success, then fell silent for a moment before walking over to open the door.

Su Xingyu stood in the doorway, having changed into a fresh set of clothes, her hair neatly tied back into a ponytail. She was carrying a cloth bag that bulged out, clearly packed with quite a few things.

“Come in,” Fu Yanqing said, stepping aside.

Su Xingyu walked in, her eyes landing on his hand. “You put this on yourself?”

“Mm-hmm.”

She looked at the soggy Band-aid in the sink, her lips curling slightly, though she said nothing. She went over to the bed and sat down, placing the bag on her lap and opening it. Inside were a roll of gauze, a bottle of Povidone-iodine solution, a pack of cotton swabs, and a small porcelain vial containing some grayish-white powder.

“Sit,” she said, gesturing toward the edge of the bed.

Fu Yanqing sat down. The two of them sat side by side on the edge of the bed, with about one person’s width between them.

Su Xingyu reached over and turned his hand over to examine the wound. Her fingers were cool as they rested lightly on his wrist, applying just the right amount of pressure. In the sunlight, the wound looked clearer than under the lamp—large patches of broken skin, with slightly reddened edges, but no swelling.

“Not too bad—it’s not deep,” she said, pulling out the Povidone-iodine solution and cotton swabs from the bag. “Let’s disinfect it first; it might sting a bit.”

She dipped a cotton swab in the iodine solution and gently dabbed it onto the wound. A cool, stinging sensation washed over him at once, and his muscles tightened ever so slightly, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

Su Xingyu noticed his reaction and eased up on the pressure. She kept her head lowered, carefully tending to the wound, circling outward from the center of the injury, stroke by stroke, with meticulous care.

“Do you often treat people’s wounds?” Fu Yanqing asked.

“When I lived in the village, whenever someone got hurt, they’d come to me,” she replied, tossing the used cotton swab into the trash and grabbing a new one. “My grandfather taught me how to dress wounds.”

“You learned a lot from your grandfather.”

“Mm-hmm.” Su Xingyu opened the little porcelain vial, poured out a bit of the grayish-white powder, and lightly sprinkled it over the wound. “I mixed this myself—it stops bleeding and reduces inflammation, and it works better than a Band-aid.”

The powder settled on the wound, bringing with it a refreshing coolness. Fu Yanqing looked down at her hands—after evenly spreading the powder, she picked up the gauze and began wrapping the wound. In her hands, the gauze seemed almost alive, folding, layering, winding, and twisting, until the whole thing was neatly wrapped, snug yet not too tight.

“All done,” she said, releasing his hand. “Change the dressing tomorrow, and in three days it should be mostly healed.”

Fu Yanqing examined the neatly bandaged palm. The gauze was wrapped very neatly, with the edges pressed flat—clearly the work of an experienced hand. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Su Xingyu gathered up the supplies and put them back into the bag, then stood up. “Get some rest now—I’m heading downstairs.”

Lunch was served in the Old Family Residence.

Aunt Zhou had prepared a full table of dishes—braised fish, sweet-and-sour spare ribs, stir-fried vegetables, a bowl of hot and sour soup, and a plate of thinly shredded cold cucumber salad. Su Xingyu’s eyes lit up as she took in the abundance of food.

“Aunt Zhou, you’ve made so much—there’s no way we can eat it all!”

“Well, it’s a wedding, so we should make it extra lavish,” Aunt Zhou said with a smile, ladling her a bowl of soup. “In the future, if there’s anything you’d like to eat, just let me know—don’t be shy.”

Su Xingyu took the bowl of soup and took a sip. The hot and sour soup was perfectly balanced, with just the right mix of tangy and spicy flavors, and she couldn’t help but take another sip.

End of Chapter 11: Simple Coexistence