Meng Ning quickly lowered her head.
Her fingertips dug into the fabric of her sweatpants—pause, dig again—pressing so hard that her skin stung faintly. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She fished it out and glanced at the screen: a WeChat message from Zou Min. “She’s here she’s here she’s here!”
Meng Ning got it.
Wen Zenian had that kind of pull on people, the sort that made them so excited they had to repeat themselves three times over.
Once Wen Zenian had slipped inside, Du Shuwen shot her a quick glance. Wen Zenian gave a subtle shake of her chin—no need to stop. Du Shuwen pulled her gaze away and pressed on. Wen Zenian took a seat behind the podium, leaving an empty chair between her and Du Shuwen’s leaning spot. A faint rustle of paper followed, as if she’d dipped her head to flip through some documents.
Only then did Meng Ning dare to peek up from under her lashes.
Zou Min was up front in the first row, too far for a whisper, so she fired off a barrage of WeChat messages instead. “That suit looks so plain—why does it look amazing on her?”
“No wait, it just seems plain. Has to be high-end. Those shoulders, that tailoring—no clue how much it runs.”
Meng Ning knew exactly how much one of Wen Zenian’s outfits cost.
She’d once sobbed all over one of Wen Zenian’s shirts, soaking the delicate fabric that couldn’t even touch water. Too proud to replace it outright, Meng Ning had paid her back—right down to the price she’d Googled online.
End-of-season sale on the official site: five percent off. A brand that extravagant only ever knocked off five percent.
Meng Ning had smirked to herself back then: Full price? Or the discount?
Discount it was. She was broke, that shirt was absurdly pricey, and even half a discount saved a bundle.
Dwelling on the mess of memories let her mind spin off the rails just enough to dial back the tension. Finally, she let her eyes drift toward Wen Zenian.
Sure enough, Wen Zenian wasn’t looking her way. She was absorbed in her documents.
Today’s white shirt looked just as costly—none of that stiff stuff, but a soft drape hugging her collarbone. Top two buttons undone, collar slumping into perfect casual elegance.
Zou Min’s messages kept coming. Meng Ning flicked her eyes down to her phone, then back up to Wen Zenian.
Not all beauties were created equal.
Du Shuwen was gorgeous too, her sultry edge softened into something uniquely commanding by her no-nonsense style. But put any number of stunners in a room, and the moment Wen Zenian showed up, every eye gravitated her way.
Meng Ning had puzzled over it before.
Maybe it was those rare, bold features. Or that air of untouchable refinement.
In the end, she’d realized there was no deep reason. Amid a sky bursting with stars, when the moon rises, you don’t analyze why. You just look up.
She glows in her quiet radiance, and all you can do is stare.
When Wen Zenian lifted her gaze, Meng Ning yanked hers away. Du Shuwen wrapped up, and Wen Zenian rose—proud without the attitude—striding out in her heels to pass documents down the rows.
“This is the NDA,” Du Shuwen announced from the podium. “Everything said here stays confidential—every last word. Read it over, sign if it’s good. Questions? Speak now, we’ll clarify.”
Wen Zenian started with Meng Ning’s row.
The real jolt didn’t hit at yesterday’s revolving-door run-in. It crashed over her now, glass barrier gone, the two of them inches apart. Wen Zenian set the two-page NDA on the table, her slender index finger brushing it lightly.
That familiar perfume wafted from her wrist, thick and inescapable.
Scents stuck longest. Eyes could lie, but Meng Ning’s body knew the truth on instinct: this was the woman she’d once been tangled up with, body and soul.
Hugs. Kisses. Sex. Wen Zenian astride her lap, rising and falling, arms looped around her neck, that same scent flooding in close.
Even at the market together—arm in arm, Meng Ning drawing on the cigarette Wen Zenian held to her lips—her cuff had carried it.
Memory’s smells cut deepest, blunt blades pricking her sinuses, stirring a bitter ache she couldn’t fight.
Meng Ning’s wrist twitched. The pen in her grip tumbled away, clattering to the floor.
Right by Wen Zenian’s high-heeled shoe.
Embarrassing.
Wen Zenian paused, then stepped back a fraction.
Meng Ning dove for it first—panicked she’d bend down to help.
Good thing Wen Zenian didn’t. It just made Meng Ning’s scramble look all the more flustered. Still, Wen Zenian lingered, waiting until she’d scooped it up before clicking off to the back rows.
Meng Ning straightened, heart hammering in her chest.
Documents distributed, Wen Zenian returned to her seat at the podium. Du Shuwen chimed in: “Read every line before you sign. Problems? Bring them up now.”
Meng Ning’s eyes dropped.
Down.
Down.
Oddly, she could parse the clauses pieced together, like she wasn’t zoned out at all. Yet she felt it crystal clear: Wen Zenian at the podium, swan-neck arched faintly over her phone.
Zou Min leaned in with a murmur: “Looks fine?”
Meng Ning nodded. She reached for the pen—and its tip scraped the desk through the thin paper, a dull scrape.
Great. Pen busted from the drop. Mortifying.
Then Xu Xuan tapped her shoulder from behind.
Grinning at first. Meng Ning turned; the smile vanished. Xu Xuan just ducked her head and thrust out her own pen. “Signed mine. Use this.”
Zou Min stifled a laugh nearby. Talk about tuned in to Meng Ning’s drama.
Meng Ning curved her lips. “Thanks.”
She twisted back to sign. Up at the podium, Wen Zenian raised her eyes from her phone. A collector’s Montblanc pen dangled idly between her slim fingers—one twirl, two—before it slipped with a soft clack onto the table.
Her gaze landed first on Meng Ning’s bowed hairline, then slid back to Xu Xuan behind her.
Thin-skinned.
Not literally—more like a life too easy, too few scars. Peek inside, and it was a shallow brook. Wen Zenian’s eyes? Bottomless ocean to the perceptive gaze. Vast sea. Still lake.
Xu Xuan stared blankly at Meng Ning’s back.
Wen Zenian looked away.
Du Shuwen swept the room. “All done signing? Pass them frontward from the back.”
She glided to Zou Min’s desk in her heels, gathered the stack, and settled back. “Last points to stress…”
Wen Zenian stayed glued to her phone the whole time.
Du Shuwen finished with a knuckle-tap on the table. “Anything to add?”
Wen Zenian glanced up, chin dipping lightly. “None.”
Du Shuwen couldn’t help it—neck craning back, she shot Wen Zenian a glare out of the staff’s sightlines.
“Right.” She pivoted to the employees, tapping herself. “Kelly.” Tapping Wen Zenian. “Gwyneth.”
Room scan. “No issues? Meeting adjourned.”
Meng Ning rose with Zou Min, heading out. At the podium, Du Shuwen leaned in, talking to Wen Zenian—one hand braced on the surface.
Wen Zenian’s thick lashes stayed low. No glance Meng Ning’s way.
“So,” Du Shuwen said. “You showed up just to utter three words?”
Wen Zenian: “Hm?”
Du Shuwen held up three fingers on her free hand. “Total today: three words. When I asked for additions, you said ‘None.’”
Wen Zenian nodded. “Hm. None.”
“Then what was the point? Big boss summons you, you’re late—why bother coming? Grand entrance, then I do all the talking. Made me look like your assistant.”
Wen Zenian: “Because I take my job seriously?”
Still phrased like a question.
Du Shuwen itched to flip the table.
Wen Zenian stood. “Take the NDAs back. Got something to handle.”
She clicked out in her heels, strolling a bit toward the staff dorms. Sure enough, there was Meng Ning—freshly parted from Zou Min.
“Meng Ning.”
Her back went rigid. She turned, face twisted like she’d heard a ghost.
But moonlight bathed Wen Zenian’s wine-rich features, heels carrying her close before she halted an arm’s length away. “Long time no see.”
Meng Ning hadn’t dreamed Wen Zenian would approach her first. Sweat prickled down her spine.
That revolving-door disdain? Looked like she’d written her off for life.
Meng Ning fumbled for words. “Y-yeah, long time no see.”
Her heart echoed it: Long time no see.
Same line, worlds apart in tone.
Wen Zenian stayed serene, unruffled. “Need you swapped out?”
“What?”
“For the interview. Someone else instead?”
“Oh—we drew lots on the patrol team. Zou Min and me…”
“Not asking how you picked.” Wen Zenian cut in sharp.
Meng Ning thought: Yep. Beauties don’t wait.
“I mean—if I make you uneasy now, I can get you replaced.”
Meng Ning pegged it to the pen fiasco.
Wen Zenian’s eyes slanted sidelong. “You did send me that period, after all.”
Meng Ning: “…Huh?”
Wen Zenian still had her old Chinese number.
But that period—could she have misread it…?
“That period actually—”
“Want replacing?” Wen Zenian steamrolled again.
Heels jacking her up near ten centimeters tall, face flawless, calm mask maybe veiling a flicker of impatience.
Two interruptions already.
Fine, fine—your majesty…
Meng Ning wrestled her pulse down, staring at the gulf between them. Who’d guess they’d ever been lovers?
Reason said take the out.
She pictured that chocolate-allergic girl. Allergic and still chasing it—why?
Moonlight pooled soft, a tiny glow-spot crowning Wen Zenian’s brow. Meng Ning heard her own voice: “No.”
Wen Zenian met her eyes. Paused one beat.
She nodded then, her tone all business. “Alright then. Pleasant cooperation.”
With that, she strode off in her high heels.
Meng Ning returned to her dormitory.
After a shower, she leaned against the headboard, cradling an open copy of Harry Potter in her hands—but she didn’t look down at it.
She was wondering if she had been too arrogant. Why had she thought Wen Zenian was ignoring her?
Whether dodging her or deliberately drawing close, both showed that the person still cared a great deal. But Wen Zenian clearly didn’t anymore.
Wen Zenian’s attitude toward her was like that of an old acquaintance from days gone by.
She didn’t even need to bother ignoring her.
The next day, Meng Ning and Zou Min received a call from Du Shuwen scheduling an interview.
These kinds of interviews always started from the smaller details of the departments, probing deeper bit by bit.
The meeting was in the hotel’s Administrative Lounge.
Meng Ning and Zou Min arrived together. Du Shuwen was sunk into the sofa, flipping through a magazine produced by Xihua Hotel. Hearing their footsteps, she looked up with a smile. “Have a seat.”
Meng Ning realized that Du Shuwen had a remarkable talent.
When she wanted to seem capable, she came across as utterly competent. When she wanted to seem approachable, she was warmth itself.
Like a chameleon.
Meng Ning and Zou Min exchanged a glance before taking their seats.
