Lillian's Melaleuca routine

At ten o'clock in the morning on January [-], Aya knocked on the door of Fyodor Dostoyevsky's house punctually.

Fyodor's home is located in the suburbs of the Northwest District of Moscow. It is an old-fashioned apartment building, only five or six stories high, square and very regular.The whole house is built of prefabricated panels. Because it was built on a large scale during the Khrushchev period, it is affectionately called the Khrushchev House by the locals.

Due to the low construction cost and safety concerns, there are not many such houses now.At the same time, due to its age, the house is not very secure, and the walls are mottled.Aya even saw dense spider webs wrapped around the corner of the wall. A sizable spider was crawling on the wall, ready to go. Its black and shiny limbs showed that it had a good meal.

With a creak, the door opened.

Fyodor was wearing pajamas, with a tired face, long black hair drooping, and listless. He did have a cold, maybe a low-grade fever, and his face was flushed.Seeing her, he sneezed uncontrollably.

"Good morning, Fei Jia. I'm glad you greeted me with this." Aya greeted him with a smile.

"Good morning, Lillian." Fyodor said hoarsely.He rubbed his eyes, apparently in a bad mood.He pushed the door open with difficulty, leaving her with a passage that could be passed alone.The room was dark with the curtains drawn, like a black hole from the outside.

Aya followed him into the house.

The internal structure of the house is also relatively simple, there is not even a TV in the house, only a reception sofa and a huge conference table.He seemed to be living with other people in a house with little personal touch and simplicity.Across the living room, Aya followed Fyodor back to his room.

Fyodor's room was not very big, and there were very few things in it.As soon as he came back, he staggered back to the bed.

"Lilian." His muffled voice came from the quilt covering his face.

While taking off her coat and putting it on the stool, Aya placed the things she brought on the bedside table.It was a bowl of hot porridge in a thermos.Hearing his voice, Ling turned around and looked at him: "What's wrong?"

She didn't wait for Fyodor's response, so she slightly pulled back a corner of the quilt to expose Fyodor's forehead. Her hands were cold, and touching Fyodor's forehead seemed to be on fire. Same.

He had a high fever, and his body temperature was too abnormal.

"Well, I actually have a day to take care of others." Ling sighed. Fortunately, she had already anticipated the current situation and prepared a medical kit in advance.But she didn't expect Fyodor's cold to be so serious.

Yes, she thought that Fyodor had just a small cold, not this kind of cold, cough and high fever that could kill him at any time.

"Anyway, Fei Jia, let's take your temperature first." At this point, Ling had no choice but to accept her fate.

There was a thermometer in the box, and Aya held the thermometer and stuffed it gently into Fyodor's mouth.He didn't resist much, and let her move meekly.

A few minutes later, Aya looked at the scary number on the thermometer, and had no idea.She could only open the medical box without complaint, took out the fever-reducing patch, tore open the package and pasted the fever-reducing patch on his head.

Taking out the antipyretics, Aya found Fyodor's teacup and fetched him a glass of cold water.Back at the bedside, Aya lifted the quilt, struggling to lift Fyodor up to feed the medicine.After all, Fyodor was a grown man, with a considerable height. Although he was thin, he was not light, and Aya couldn't move it no matter what.

She had no choice but to lean closer to his ear, trying to wake him up: "Feyya, Fedya? Are you up? You're sick and you need to take medicine first."

Fyodor still didn't respond.

Aya patted him angrily, and Fyodor covered his head as if he didn't feel it.

She had no choice but to pull Fyodor's quilt back, let him lean on the pillow, pinch his nose, let him take the two cold medicines dry, and didn't even give him a drink of water.

The temperature in the room was very high, and Aya was already sweating profusely from exhaustion. She fanned herself like a fan, and then began to look at Fyodor's room when she had time.

His room is completely different from his own image. Even though the objects in the room are properly applied to the hobbies that Fyodor told her, Aya still instinctively feels a little different. There is a bookshelf next to the desk, and Aya confirms it with her body After a glance at Fyodor's condition, he walked to the bookshelf.

Most of the bookshelves are literary works, including some philosophical books, such as Berdyaev's "On the Mission of Man" and Friedrich Nietzsche's "Chakathustra Spoke". The things placed on the table are simply miscellaneous, not only Stendhal's "Red and Black", but also some collections of poetry.Ling opened a book randomly and read a few pages, then closed the book without interest—this book was boring and jerky, completely out of her reading range.

Just as she was about to put the book back on the shelf, she saw the bookmark on it, a maple-leaf-shaped post-it note with an excerpt written by Fyodor himself.

"If civilization is already in ruins, there is also a great opportunity to sweep away the pile of broken images and start anew. Through it, people return to pre-modern sources in order to move backwards into a A future completely beyond modernity."

Aya glanced at it and put the bookmark back.

She didn't stay too long on the bookshelf, but quietly returned to her seat and started to daze.

It was already three o'clock in the afternoon when Fyodor woke up.His fever was almost gone and he was starting to feel lucid, except for a tickle in his throat.

After the consciousness returned to the basket, the obvious sense of heavy objects on the body became clearer.

"Feyya, are you awake?" A familiar voice came from above Fyodor's head.

As soon as he opened his eyes, he saw Aya who was facing him.

Fyodor gave an "hmm" and didn't show surprise at the current situation.

At this time, Fyodor was lying on the bed, and Aya was pressing on him.The two were separated by a quilt.Aya propped her hands up, they were head to head, very close to each other, even their breaths were intertwined.

The room was dark with the curtains drawn and no lights on.Aya's gaze was fixed on Fyodor, and she saw his misty pupils sharpen suddenly, and she could feel his whole body tense, and then relaxed again.

But immediately, seeing that it was her, he breathed a sigh of relief, and thanked him naturally: "Thank you, Lilian."

Ling chuckled softly, leaned close to his ear, squeezed her throat and asked charmingly, "Fei Jia, how can you thank me? I stayed here with you all afternoon."

Without waiting for Fyodor's reply, she continued, "Otherwise, let me kiss you."

She blinked her eyes, pretending to be wronged, but slowly lowered her head.The distance between them was getting closer, and she could see his misty eyes under the long eyelashes staring at her unblinkingly, and at this moment, the lips were a little pale.

They were getting closer and closer, so close that their noses touched.

Fyodor just looked at her indulgently, without doing anything.

But in the end it was Aya who frustrated the beginning.

She sat back on the stool next to her in an orderly manner, her tone of disappointment could not be concealed: "Fei Jia, you don't like me at all. Why do you want to approach me?"

He beat her.Because his eyes without any desire for her made her hesitate.

Fyodor sat up slowly, his exquisite face was still a little pale, he tilted his head, showing a puzzled expression, which was kind of cute.

He shook his head and said, "You're wrong, Lillian. I like you."

He raised his head, showing a mocking smile that was not a smile: "We humans can like lovers, friends, and fame and wealth. But sometimes, liking can be both noble and humble. .”

"You see, when lovers speak the language of love, people think liking is high-class. When someone admits that he loves money, people think his liking is so cheap. In the final analysis, the form of both is ultimately nothing more than 'Like' this emotional radiance? It makes no difference."

"Are you saying that love is also something cheaply put together?" Aya murmured.

"Love for others comes from appearance and money or fame, flesh|flesh and favor. The world sings of unrequited love because they know it does not exist. Love is desire, so love is nothing but It’s just a composite of sins.”

This time he took the initiative to approach her. Under her blank gaze, Fyodor's voice was as thin as a devil's whisper, and he sighed bewitchingly.

"Of course I like you, Lillian."