Chapter 35 Part 2

Her face remained composed and calm throughout, though she exhaled softly once more.

But her words were directed at Qi Xiao. “Could you trouble yourself to escort her to the infirmary?”

“Oh, yeah, of course.” Qi Xiao stood. “Let’s go, Cara.”

Meng Ning rose and followed Qi Xiao out.

From behind, she heard Wen Zenian conferring with management on patching institutional gaps and proposing appropriate penalties for the head chef.

She didn’t mistreat anyone, but she was strict. She showed no superfluous gentleness toward the world.

As Meng Ning and Qi Xiao walked out, they could see everyone in the restaurant gazing toward Wen Zenian. It was a look of admiration, tinged with faint awe and fear.

Once outside the restaurant, Qi Xiao asked, “Are you okay?”

The itch and pain arrived belatedly, much like so many things in life.

“I’m fine,” Meng Ning replied calmly. “I’ve had allergies before. It’s not dangerous—just a bit painful and itchy. It’ll pass soon enough.”

Qi Xiao glanced at her.

“What?” Meng Ning touched her face. “Does it look that scary?”

Qi Xiao shook her head. “It’s just the way you said ‘it’ll pass soon enough’… How do I put it? It sounds like you think it’s completely normal.” She added, “But suffering isn’t okay. It’s hard to endure.”

Meng Ning paused for a moment.

Then she smiled and nodded. “You’re right.”

They arrived at the infirmary. Meng Ning remembered from her childhood allergy episode exactly which medicine had worked best. But the island clinic didn’t have it. The doctor prescribed an alternative with similar ingredients. “This will work too.”

Meng Ning nodded. “If it works, that’s good enough.”

She took the medicine with a cup of warm water. When she stepped out of the infirmary, Qi Xiao looked her over from every angle. “It doesn’t seem to be doing much.”

Meng Ning smiled faintly. “It can’t take effect that fast.”

Her nonchalant attitude eased Qi Xiao’s worry, and she began reminiscing about the scene in the restaurant.

“Didn’t you think Gwyneth seemed angry just now?”

“Did she?”

In truth, Wen Zenian had handled it all with professional efficiency, cool and collected.

Qi Xiao pondered for a moment. “Maybe she’s just naturally stern, so it comes across like anger.”

Wen Zenian was a born dream weaver. At C Hotel, there should be no safety incidents, no health risks, no grueling daily toil—only breathtaking beauty and buoyant spirits, with smiles on every face like a pleasant intoxication.

Wen Zenian couldn’t tolerate any imperfections in her dream.

Two hours later, back in the dorm, Qi Xiao checked Meng Ning again. “This medicine really doesn’t seem to be working on you. Those red spots are still so obvious.” She suggested, “Should we head to the city to look for something else?”

Meng Ning shook her head. “We’ve got shifts tomorrow morning. Taking the speedboat off the island and back would take too much time. Besides, that childhood medicine of mine was dirt cheap, so it’s probably not stocked in pharmacies anymore anyway—low profit margins.”

Qi Xiao hesitated. “Let’s just keep an eye on it then.”

Meng Ning comforted her instead. “It’s really nothing. Even without any medicine, these spots will fade by morning.”

Just then, Qi Xiao’s phone rang. She smacked her lips in annoyance. “What time is it? Which sales outfit is this persistent?” She answered with clear impatience. “Hello?”

She had been lounging on her bed, phone in one hand while keeping watch on Meng Ning. Now she suddenly sat up, crossing her legs in a meditative pose. “Gwyneth.”

Meng Ning leaned against the headboard, hands folded over her abdomen as she stared into space. Now her right thumb circled her left thumb, rubbing gently.

“Mm, got it.” Qi Xiao hung up after that brief reply.

Meng Ning lowered her gaze to her thumbnail. The dim lamplight cast indistinct shadows, forming ambiguous glints on her nail.

She didn’t ask. She waited for Qi Xiao to speak first. “Let’s go.”

Was it Wen Zenian coming for her? But why call Qi Xiao?

Qi Xiao clarified, “The helipad.”

C Hotel had its own helipad.

Given the island’s limited space, it was reserved for the helicopters of top-tier billionaires. The hotel kept a small chopper of its own, usually idle, only used occasionally to ferry ultra-VIP guests.

What could they need at the helipad?

It was some distance from the staff dorms. Qi Xiao explained, “Gwyneth is worried your allergy might have some unusual reaction. She asked me to go with you.”

“Did she say what it’s about?”

Qi Xiao shook her head.

It couldn’t be something as over-the-top as airlifting her to a city hospital for emergency care, Meng Ning thought half in jest.

But as she and Qi Xiao approached the helipad, they spotted C Hotel’s helicopter descending from afar.

In the brightly lit area stood a figure in a red evening gown, burning like flame amid the night.

Suddenly, Meng Ning understood the pattern in Wen Zenian’s gown choices. The closer they got to a critical negotiation phase, the bolder the colors—psychologically designed to exert pressure, compelling others to heed her decisions subconsciously.

Qi Xiao had noticed Wen Zenian’s silhouette from afar too.

The slender woman stood tall. The rotor wash whipped the grass, stirred the night air, and billowed her fiery skirt. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear against the wind and turned, her minimalist gown exposing a vast expanse of snowy back where her shoulder blades formed the shape of wings poised to take flight.

Meng Ning wasn’t one for taking photos.

But this time, as the night breeze lifted specks of dust, she blinked with deliberate slowness, as if capturing the moment with a slow shutter speed.

This scene wouldn’t develop on any photo paper. It would linger only in her hippocampus, weathering with time and years until even the nonexistent print yellowed—yet that woman’s skirt, scorching the night like flame, would remain vivid.

The helicopter’s rotors slowed to a stop. Wen Zenian walked toward Meng Ning and Qi Xiao.

Qi Xiao watched in a daze, reminiscent of that speedboat party when Wen Zenian had extended a hand to Meng Ning.

But this time, it wasn’t to lead her away. Nestled in that pale palm was a box of medicine.

The exact allergy meds Meng Ning had taken as a teenager—cheap but highly effective, which she’d assumed no local pharmacy would carry anymore.

Wen Zenian kept it simple. “Take the medicine and get some rest. I need to head back to the gala.”

She left first, her trailing red skirt swaying provocatively through the night, dragging amid the grasses like a comet’s tail.

Qi Xiao walked Meng Ning back to the dorm.

Meng Ning pulled out the package insert and read it carefully. No interactions with her earlier dose. She poured a glass of water and swallowed the pill.

As she tilted her head to let it slide down her throat, it occurred to her that someone as meticulous as Wen Zenian must have looked into all this already.

Half an hour later, the pain and itch began to fade.

“Did Gwyneth check with the infirmary about which medicine you needed?” Qi Xiao observed her. “Incredible. This one’s actually working.”

The next morning in the staff restaurant:

“Did you see the helicopter last night? Which tycoon flew in this season?”

“Nah, I heard Gwyneth called it in.”

“Why?”

“No idea. Maybe some urgent documents?”

But someone else sidled up mysteriously. “Might not be. Word is, Gwyneth covered the cost personally.”

“Even more intriguing!”

“Could be nothing that mysterious. Maybe it’s just a hard-to-get limited-edition handbag—worth a special delivery. That’s their lifestyle.”

“You’ve got a point.”

That evening, Meng Ning went for a swim at the beach. As she rose from the waves, she spotted someone on the shore and instinctively stepped back.

“It’s me!” Qi Xiao’s voice called out. “I’m not dressed in white or anything. Why so jumpy?”

“Something you need?”

“Nothing major. Just… wanted to chat.”

“Why not wait in the dorm?”

“Isn’t this a nice quiet stretch of coastline? Perfect for some nighttime talk.” Qi Xiao grinned and raised her hand. “I brought beer and peanuts!”

Fully equipped. Nighttime chat essentials.

It was low tide that night, the waves gentler and shallower than usual. With spring in the air, the evening no longer clung to winter’s chill. Meng Ning toweled off, pulled on sweatpants, draped the thick soft towel over her shoulders, and sat with Qi Xiao on a nearby rock.

Where the waves normally crashed, the exposed beach revealed deeper scars. Like a bookshelf against a wall: you see pristine white plaster day to day, but remove it one day, and you find the wall yellowed with age like old pages.

Qi Xiao handed Meng Ning a can. “Raspberry flavor.”

Meng Ning took it, popped the tab, clinked it lightly against Qi Xiao’s, took a sip, then couldn’t help checking the label. “What flavor did you say?”

Qi Xiao burst out laughing. “Why does it taste like traditional medicine!”

They set the beer aside, left with a bag of peanuts. “Normally, gossip sessions call for garlic peanuts.”

Meng Ning asked, “Hang on—why do gossip sessions specifically need garlic peanuts?”

“It’s a universal truth!” Qi Xiao said solemnly. “Like how you can’t drink Pepsi if you’re drinking cola—you go Coke. Cosmic law!”

Meng Ning laughed. “I see your tastes shining through.”

“But tonight’s chat is something more poetic, so I settled for salted.” She shook the peanut bag at Meng Ning.

Meng Ning popped one in her mouth. “You want to talk about Gwyneth?”

Qi Xiao let out an “ah,” then apologized. “I saw a lighter receipt in your bag. Wasn’t on purpose.”

Meng Ning shook her head.

Qi Xiao probed cautiously. “Did you end up giving it to Gwyneth?”

Meng Ning wiped her hands on a tissue, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small, dark silver lighter.

Qi Xiao recalled the receipt price and gasped. “That thing costs that much?”

Meng Ning smiled, toying with it, flicking the flint to light and snuff it out.

The night brightened for an instant, then dimmed.

Qi Xiao asked, “Why didn’t you give it to her?”

“It wasn’t a must,” Meng Ning said with a faint smile. “Her lighter was missing, and I spotted it in a thrift shop, so I bought it on impulse. Then I thought better of it—that kind of secondhand curio doesn’t suit someone like her.”

Qi Xiao blurted, “It’s expensive.”

“Not really.” Meng Ning joked, “Compared to what she’d buy herself, it’s dirt cheap.”

Qi Xiao fell silent, drawing an extra glance from Meng Ning.

She bit her lip, then finally asked, “Meng Ning, I don’t know if I’m overthinking… but do you… actually like Gwyneth a little?”

Meng Ning seemed calmer than she’d expected.

The young woman, wrapped in her fluffy towel that softened her slender frame, her long straight black hair tied back and soaked from the sea, gave the illusion of being dissolved into the dark waters.

Meng Ning spoke calmly. “Why do you say that?”