“This is bad.” Seeing this, Jing Qichi went to unzip her school uniform, took it off, and carefully rolled up her sweatshirt sleeve. There was a cut about four centimeters long on her upper arm – not deep, but still bleeding.
“Lucky I wore something thick.” Huan’er felt fortunate to have survived. It had been cool when she left home in the morning, so she had specifically chosen a fleece-lined sweatshirt, which had coincidentally helped a lot.
“Let’s get home quick.” Song Cong helped her up, frowning deeply.
“Not yet.” Huan’er nodded toward the still-lit pharmacy nearby, grimacing, “Let’s buy some medicine and treat it first. If my mom sees this, we’re dead.”
“No way.” Song Cong insisted, “This is a knife wound. If it’s not treated properly, it’ll not only leave a scar but could also get infected and suppurate.”
“It’s not that serious,” Huan’er pointed at the wound for him to see. “It’s just a scratch and not near any joints. Besides, this depth is less than half a centimeter – won’t even need stitches.”
Song Cong frowned, “But still…”
“Let’s do this first.” Seeing the wound still bleeding and remembering how Chen’s mother had gotten angry over just a bruise last time, Jing Qichi made a decision, “Come on, quick.”
Huan’er was settled on a bench outside the pharmacy, and Jing Qichi went in and quickly came out with a pack of medical gauze. He tore open the package and quickly pressed it against the wound to stop the bleeding, his eyes lacking their usual mischief, “Does it hurt?”
“A bit, but it’s okay,” Huan’er answered honestly.
“Then tonight…”
Halfway through his sentence, Song Cong came out after paying, saw Jing Qichi pressing the wound, first sighed, then said, “I still think you need a tetanus shot. We can’t risk complications just to keep it from Aunt Li Na. Why don’t I have my mom take you…”
“Is there a difference between your mom knowing and my mom knowing?” Huan’er forced a bitter smile. “If they see it’s a knife wound, all three of us, every single one, won’t see tomorrow’s sun. Don’t worry, I know how serious this is.”
Seeing both still silent, she nudged Jing Qichi, “What were you saying about tonight?”
He had wanted to suggest she sleep at his place to avoid being scolded by her mom, but thinking again, he felt that would be making too big a deal of it, so he changed the subject instead. “Chen Huan’er, when did you learn all these fighting skills? You’re amazing – you can fight!”
“Completely, completely unexpected!” When the topic came up, Song Cong’s worried expression changed to one of joy and amazement. “Huan’er, I had no idea – your skills are professional level!”
Punching, kicking, choking – not only were her movements clean, precise, and fierce, but the techniques she displayed far exceeded mere strength. Someone without long-term training could never achieve such proficiency.
Without this incident, even though they were close, Chen Huan’er had never mentioned or demonstrated this, making this night too shocking for Song Cong and Jing Qichi.
Huan’er felt embarrassed by the praise and said lightly, “I guess I learned some. When I was little, I was healthy, and my parents thought it would be a waste not to learn kung fu.”
Jing Qichi suddenly looked up at her but didn’t speak.
She was lying.
He didn’t know why Chen Huan’er was lying, but he knew now wasn’t the time to dig deeper.
“Is it about done?” Song Cong lifted Jing Qichi’s pressing hand, turned on his phone light, and carefully examined it up close. The bleeding was minimal, and while the wound was long, it truly wasn’t deep. Finally letting out a quiet sigh of relief, he took out the iodine he’d bought, “Brace yourself.”
When the cotton swab soaked in brown liquid touched the wound, Huan’er hissed.
“It’s done, it’s done.” Song Cong comforted her, then wrapped the wound with gauze, completing the simple medical treatment.
Huan’er raised her arm slightly and waved it a couple of times – it was just a superficial wound, the bone completely fine.
She was thoroughly relieved and suddenly started laughing.
Jing Qichi was confused by this unusual behavior, “What?”
“I just realized,” Huan’er pointed at the iodine in Song Cong’s hand, “this is the first time in my life I’ve ever bought this stuff.”
“Me too.”
“Me too.”
All three burst out laughing, laughing until tears appeared in their eyes, laughing uncontrollably.
It was worth having a good laugh.
Being unlucky was worth it, bravely fighting off thugs was worth it, escaping death was worth it, and buying iodine for the first time when it was always well-stocked at home was even more worth it.
This was an autumn night filled with countless worthwhile moments.
After the laughter subsided, Song Cong continued their previous topic, “What style did you learn?”
Huan’er was confused, “Hm?”
He clenched his fist and threw a punch at Jing Qichi’s face in half-speed, while the other played along with the mini-drama, slowly turning his face away as if being beaten up.
Huan’er laughed again, “Just Sanda, nothing much – throwing some punches and kicks, that sort of thing, not very useful.”
“Not useful? You saved both our lives today.” Song Cong made a “cut” gesture to Jing Qichi who was still in acting mode, “Right?”
“Yes, yes, yes.” Jing Qichi returned to normal and started joking again, “Now I know why you said back then that you were afraid of hurting people.”
Song Cong was confused, looking at him and then at Huan’er, “Hurting people?”
Jing Qichi waved his hand, “Just something you don’t need to know about.”