Chapter 4: Eager to Help

His friend’s look at Pei Zeyang was complicated, but Pei Zeyang didn’t spare him a glance—eyes only on the blank, dazed little blind neighbor in front of him.
“Ah… th-then you really are tall.” Not understanding what the decimals meant, Wen Mo could only praise his height.
Wen Mo was only 173. Pei Zeyang’s height genuinely surprised him… No wonder the voice had seemed to come from above his head.
“Don’t call me ‘you’ formally.” Pei Zeyang found it awkward.
“Oh, okay.” Wen Mo nodded like a pecking chick.
“So.” Pei Zeyang’s friend tried to wedge into their chat. “Let me help him.”
He wasn’t as tall as Pei Zeyang, but at 180 he was enough to grab things for the little neighbor. Mainly—Pei Zeyang’s leg was still hurt, just out of the hospital. He didn’t want to send him back there. Too much trouble.
To prove he could do it too, he paused and copied Pei Zeyang: “I’m 185.”
“Point seven.”
—He didn’t actually know the decimal. He was just being annoying.
“…You’re tall too.” Hearing that, Wen Mo instinctively turned to “look” the other way. “I…”
After the compliment he hesitated, unsure whether he should offer his own height.
173 felt hard to mention next to them—and even if he did, he didn’t know the decimal. The last time he knew his height was his eighteenth birthday, when his mother had been happy to tell him: Little Mo grew another centimeter—you’re 173 now.
Wen Mo stood there awkwardly and didn’t join the height contest.
Boys cared about face on things like this.
“Come on—I’ll help you find it.” Pei Zeyang led Wen Mo away.
“Okay.” Wen Mo nodded and took Pei Zeyang toward his apartment.
“Hey, Pei Zeyang.” His friend panicked. “Your leg—”
Pei Zeyang acted deaf—as if the man didn’t exist.
Wen Mo heard and stopped. “Your friend’s calling you. What’s wrong with your leg?”
“It’s long.” Pei Zeyang said, deadpan.
Friend: “?”
Wen Mo: “…”
“Oh…” Wen Mo nodded harder once he caught on. “Right. Okay.”
At one ninety, the legs would be long.
“So helping you is no problem.” Pei Zeyang’s voice was flat—cool, effortless, in control.
“Okay…” Weird person. Weird conversation.
Wen Mo didn’t know what to say. Pei Zeyang said something; Wen Mo mm-hmmed and nodded, barely managing a response.
Friend: “…”
What the hell is wrong with him!
What was Pei Zeyang playing at? So cringe.
He was rolling his eyes to heaven.
—
Pei Zeyang followed Wen Mo inside.
Same floor, same layout—two bedrooms, a living room, plus a balcony. The balconies were adjacent, separated only by a waist-high railing.
The little neighbor’s place was neat and clean. He even kept a potted plant by the door.
“Come in.” Wen Mo bent and took a pair of brand-new slippers from the shoe cabinet, set them in front of him.
“…”
Pei Zeyang only needed one slipper right now.
He didn’t say so.
His right leg was still in thick plaster. He angled inward, trying to keep Wen Mo from bumping him. After one shoe was on, he shifted his crutch aside very quietly.
Wen Mo lifted his eyes then.
Pei Zeyang didn’t want attention—but the blind heard better than most. The slightest sound reached him. Before he could wonder what it was, Pei Zeyang cut in: “Your place is clean.”
“Hm? It’s okay. Someone cleaned yesterday—a volunteer from the community.” Wen Mo smiled, easily distracted.
“Oh.” Pei Zeyang answered, then asked, “What do you want me to get?”
“A suitcase—maybe on top of the closet in the second bedroom or the master.” Wen Mo led him in. The two rooms connected; Wen Mo opened both doors. Pei Zeyang saw at once.
“In the second bedroom.” Pei Zeyang told him. “Several suitcases on top of the wardrobe. What color do you want?”
That stumped Wen Mo. How could he know the color?
Pei Zeyang realized and stiffened. “I’ll bring them all down. You can check one by one.”
“Yes, thank you so much.” Wen Mo was delighted.
His new neighbor was really eager to help.
Pei Zeyang grunted again and looked at the 2.5-meter wardrobe.
Even at 190.6 he would need something to stand on—and with one leg injured, more so.
Wen Mo didn’t know.
Pei Zeyang left the second bedroom, dragged a chair over with effort. Only then did Wen Mo realize and speak up: “Let me hold it steady for you.”
“No.” Pei Zeyang refused.
If Wen Mo steadied the chair from below, he might hit his leg.
He didn’t want the little neighbor to know.
Because next door some weird guy was still lurking.
…Yuan Chen was annoying.
Pei Zeyang didn’t get why he had to compete on height. The thought alone darkened his mood.
“You don’t need to?” Wen Mo wasn’t reassured. “It’s safer if I hold the chair.”
“It’s not high. I’ll have it down fast.” Pei Zeyang said. “Go take your medicine.”
“All right.”
When he put it that way, Wen Mo obeyed. He felt along the doorframe out to the water dispenser and took his medicine with water.
He had just swallowed when several thuds came from the second bedroom.
Wen Mo jolted. Several seconds passed before he understood. He ran back, feeling along the floor for Pei Zeyang. “…What happened? Did you fall off the chair? Does it hurt?!”
Worry showed in Pei Zeyang’s pupils.
The blind couldn’t focus their eyes. They stared into empty space while their hands searched the floor in panic.
Pei Zeyang froze, then quickly shifted aside.
Wen Mo didn’t find him—only several suitcases.
Pei Zeyang used the luggage as a barrier between them.
“Doesn’t hurt. Didn’t fall. The chair tipped.”
It hurt like hell, but face mattered—Pei Zeyang would never admit he had fallen.
“Hiss—”
Unfortunately he gave himself away.
Wen Mo had almost believed him. But when Wen Mo felt for him, his hand pushed a suitcase. The suitcase moved and hit Pei Zeyang’s injured leg. He couldn’t hold back a muffled groan.
The blind caught the sound at once. “You…”
“Fine. Don’t overthink it.” Pain soaked him, cold sweat on his skin—but Pei Zeyang clenched his jaw, especially seeing Wen Mo’s face. He refused to show it, forcing his right leg away.
Worst case, another hospital visit.
He went to hospitals often enough—it was practically home.
Nothing to worry about.
Besides, if his leg weren’t hurt and the suitcases weren’t so heavy, he wouldn’t have fallen with them.
“The suitcases were heavier than I thought. I assumed they were empty.” One pull and the cases had dragged him down.
Pei Zeyang salvaged his pride, changed the subject hard so Wen Mo wouldn’t stare at his leg: “What did you want from the suitcase?”
“Are you really okay?” Wen Mo couldn’t find him or judge how bad it was. Worry lined his brow. “There’s a stuffed toy inside—a gift from my mom for my fifth birthday. I wanted to get it out.”
“Oh.” Pei Zeyang selectively ignored the first part and opened every suitcase through the pain.
The black one was full of ceramic figurines like the kind sold at tourist spots—no wonder it was heavy. Probably stored away so Wen Mo wouldn’t break them and cut himself at home.
Pei Zeyang opened the green suitcase and found what Wen Mo wanted.
He took it out and pressed it into Wen Mo’s hands. “This one?”
The boy’s hands were furnace-hot. Wen Mo froze, then his lashes fluttered—this new neighbor’s warmth matched his enthusiasm.
“Yes, that’s it.” The moment he had the toy, Wen Mo recognized it, hugged it to his chest, and felt safe. His head didn’t seem as dizzy; he didn’t feel as awful.
“Good.”
Wen Mo had what he wanted. Pei Zeyang braced on the chair in front of him and stood. Pain brought cold sweat he couldn’t hide. He bent his head and breathed hard several times. When he looked up, the little neighbor’s face was worried, regretful, at a loss.
Damn.
Why did he look so pitiful.
Pei Zeyang was the one who fell, but the neighbor’s reaction almost made him feel like a criminal.
What the hell was he falling for… Pei Zeyang muttered under his breath and looked away. “Where do you want the suitcases? Back on top? That high—you won’t reach them easily later.”
“Then don’t put them up.” Wen Mo said.
When he moved, distant relatives had hired movers. The workers hadn’t met him, didn’t know he was blind—probably stacked them up without thinking.
Wen Mo: “Just leave them anywhere there’s space.”
“Fine.” Pei Zeyang pushed all three to the corner by the window, lined up in a row.
“Thank you.”
The moment he turned, Wen Mo thanked him again. Pei Zeyang didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say. He had only helped within his ability—no need for so many thanks.
He thought that no matter how inconvenient he was, he still had it easier than Wen Mo.
“Small thing.” Leg throbbing, Pei Zeyang answered calmly.
“Thank you, truly.” Wen Mo said. “Do you need me to ice it for you?”
Having fallen often since moving in, Wen Mo knew how much it hurt. He regretted not staying to steady the chair. He wanted to help Pei Zeyang now.
Pei Zeyang refused again.
“No need. I didn’t fall.” He wouldn’t admit it. “The suitcases fell.”
“All right. Want water?” Wen Mo wanted to return the kindness. “I can pour you a glass. Is your place unpacked? Need help? Don’t mind how I look—I can do a lot of things.”
“No.” Pei Zeyang didn’t need Wen Mo to do anything for him.
Wen Mo was the one who had it hard—a vulnerable person who needed care. They were neighbors; a small favor was a small favor. No repayment required.
Any normal person would help.
He was just normal.
With that thought, he said, “I live next door. I’m home every day. If anything’s inconvenient, come find me—anytime, anything.”
“I’m Pei Zeyang. And you?”
“Wen Mo.” The name had barely left his lips when Wen Mo turned his head. His throat itched; he coughed softly two or three times.
The coughs were light, but when he faced Pei Zeyang again, the corners of his eyes were faintly red. His sightless eyes held a thin film of moisture that gathered when he blinked—like dew on a leaf tip, hanging on his lower lashes… making you want to wipe it away.
His nose tip was pale pink too.
There was a mole at the corner of his eye.
He only noticed now because the mole was so faint and small—you had to be close to see it.
His lashes were long too.
Pei Zeyang stared a beat too long before forcing himself back.
“…When you have a cold you should drink more hot water.” Realizing Wen Mo was sick, he spoke quickly—whether from care or cover, hard to tell. “I’ll get you hot water.”
Wen Mo: “…?”
Huh?
Was this new neighbor always this eager?
As someone vulnerable, Wen Mo had met plenty of kind people—but none as enthusiastic as Pei Zeyang.
For example: his foot was clearly injured—yet he was in a hurry to pour water for someone with two good legs.
Wen Mo listened to the crutch tap on the floor and tilted his head, thoroughly puzzled.