The towel in Jian Shichu’s hand crumpled into folds. Her heart pounded fiercely the moment Wen Zhixu’s words landed, and as her breathing deepened, she stared straight at Wen Zhixu, her lips and brows calm and indifferent.
She had waited years for this sentence. When she finally heard it, she didn’t dare listen a second time. She was afraid—that feeling of wanting to reach out but holding back was utter torment.
It was a one-sided affection from the start. Even after crossing mountains and ridges, it wouldn’t touch the other person. That year’s love had nothing to do with Wen Zhixu.
Wen Zhixu propped herself up, her soft breaths laced with alcohol stimulating her. She reached out and wrapped her arms around Jian Shichu’s waist.
Jian Shichu didn’t dodge. She let Wen Zhixu’s hands hold her, a gentle warmth slowly seeping into her skin.
The heat was humid, and tears sliding from the corner of Wen Zhixu’s eyes fell onto her neck, the wetness making Jian Shichu’s heart skip a beat.
She was just about to push Wen Zhixu away when, as if possessed, Wen Zhixu turned her head and breathed against the spot below her ear. The strength in Jian Shichu’s wrists weakened amid the warm current.
“Wen Zhixu, you’re drunk,” Jian Shichu reminded steadily, lowering her gaze. Wen Zhixu still didn’t speak, just looked up at her, eyes glistening with moisture.
Jian Shichu watched, preparing to lift her hand to wipe away the tears, but paused midway, suppressing her breath before asking softly, “All these years when you’ve gotten drunk, has it always been like this?”
The words had just left her mouth when Wen Zhixu slowly leaned closer. The atmosphere hung still in the soft yellow light, her lashes lowering as she listened intently to the rising and falling breaths.
“Always like this.” Wen Zhixu’s clear, moist voice spilled out along with the crystalline tears trailing from her eye.
The moment she finished, the burning fire in Jian Shichu’s eyes grew more intense. She leaned forward and kissed her, as if debating Wen Zhixu’s words—or filling the longing of five years.
She lingered less than three seconds before hearing a muffled hum deepen. Wen Zhixu responded with a light, somewhat clumsy kiss, the taste of alcohol filling her breath. The scorching heat teased her resolve, piercing her heart and stirring the warmth surging inside her.
She pressed the other woman down onto the bed. Wen Zhixu’s hands around her waist tightened, their breaths both disordered by physiological reactions.
“You were the one who left me first. Do you regret it?” Jian Shichu’s question whispered against her ear, but received no answer.
The clear, ragged breaths were disorienting. The look in Wen Zhixu’s eyes was unclear, and when she kissed back, she offered no response to the words.
Amid the tangled, chaotic breaths, Wen Zhixu’s fingertips circled Jian Shichu’s button, fumbling for a long time to undo it—her movements clumsy under the alcohol’s numbing haze.
Jian Shichu could feel the other’s body softening further, a familiar sensation—the passionate entanglement of that night five years ago, spilling out her longing.
“I can’t undo it. You do it.” Wen Zhixu murmured softly, unclear if it was the drunkenness or some awareness speaking.
With one hand undoing her buttons, Jian Shichu kissed her ear and asked, “Do you know who I am?”
Wen Zhixu just hummed without speaking. She refused to answer any of Jian Shichu’s questions, yet that night, she was very obedient.
There was no jewelry on her collarbone. The scent of alcohol seeped from her skin, carrying a faint fragrance that teased the other woman over and over.
Jian Shichu’s hand slid up along her waistline. Wen Zhixu had taken off her own outer clothes, the scorching breath sweeping over her, pulling her back to the night before their breakup.
In her eyes lay a sea of stars. That night it had snowed, the room’s heater piercing through their bodies, the accumulated affections of their youth nearly scattered away.
Back then, her book had just been finished, its protagonist modeled after Jian Shichu invading her dreams at any moment. That year, her secret hadn’t stayed hidden.
After being a good child for over twenty years, having her secret discovered left her at a loss. Her mother’s solution: every mention of Jian Shichu in her diary was changed to the heroine of her own book.
She became her material, and also her past.
When Wen Zhixu woke, her mind was blank. It was seven in the morning; her place was near the street, and she could hear the rush of cars streaming by.
She stared at the ceiling for a few seconds, searching her mind for memories. The last one stopped at fumbling for her keys before entering last night.
Sitting up, her thighs ached with soreness. Supporting herself against the headboard, she found her phone on the bedside table amid the quiet message list—except for a red dot at the top contact.
She tapped it open while heading to the bathroom: a friend request.
[Hello Xiao Xu, I’m introduced by Aunt Wen.]
Morning light filtered through thin mist, a familiar scent lingering on her hair tips. Wen Zhixu looked but didn’t approve, shutting off the phone and tossing it casually on the counter.
The incandescent light flicked on, the mirror facing her directly. The white silk nightgown draped over her black hair, the slightly curled ends falling to her chest, faintly concealing the red marks.
Her calm gaze jolted sharply upon seeing herself in the mirror. Unsure, she tilted her head, lashes trembling, fingers parting her hair.
A hickey marked her fair neck, the pale red trace stark on her skin.
Wen Zhixu’s eyes widened in shock. Even as her mind replayed like a projector, she couldn’t recall what had happened.
Her clothes from last night hung dry on the balcony. Standing in the middle of the living room, she scanned the surroundings, half her body bathed in morning light.
A sticky note on the table caught her eye. She approached slowly, picked it up, and read: Breakfast on the table. Come find me after resting well.
Her heart pounded harder at those words. She crumpled the note in one hand and tossed it into the trash.
She hadn’t gotten blackout drunk outside in years; if she drank, it was always alone at home. Wen Zhixu quickened her steps, gripping the phone tightly on the counter—her whole body felt off.
Still no messages. She lingered on Wang Yun’s chat window, unsure what to send.
A numb tingle from her palm pulled her back as the phone vibrated.
Wang Yun: [Xiao Xu, sober yet?]
Wen Zhixu’s fingertips trembled as she stared at the words for a moment, then typed back rapidly.
[I’m fine now. Sorry for troubling everyone last night.]
[No worries. Rest well.]
After thanking her, Wen Zhixu ended the chat. Simple and straightforward, no lingering—perfect.
She stood at the bedroom doorway when her gaze flashed to the bedside. In the shadows, a white card caught her eye.
Wen Zhixu approached slowly, squatted, pressed her thumb in the center, and picked up the bent business card to check: Song Yi
…
“President Song, Miss Jian is here.”
The click of high heels stopped abruptly. Song Yi’s arm fell into the light, the office windows tightly shut. She gestured for the man to draw the curtains, tilting her head toward the door with a smile.
Following her gaze, Jian Shichu set the gift box on the coffee table. After the gray light-blocking curtains were half-drawn, the office dimmed.
Meeting her smile, Jian Shichu said, “Happy birthday.”
“You’re in a good mood today.” Song Yi glanced at her simply, signaling the person to close the door.
“Not bad.”
Jian Shichu’s reply was cheerful. As she sat, the mark on her collarbone peeked from her neckline before her long hair covered it again.
Song Yi was her high school classmate, a desk mate versed in the art of clever beauty. In the past, she’d bulldozed through the workplace with her looks regardless of face or favor; now she had a bit of the air of a seasoned rich miss. Though they’d lost touch for years after university, it didn’t hinder their good relationship.
“Heard Bai Xue offended you last time?” Song Yi leaned over, took a mineral water from the coffee table center, twisted it open, and placed it before Jian Shichu.
She was untying the box’s ribbon; the blue bow unraveled with a pull. She didn’t rush to open the box, instead neatly folding the ribbon aside first.
Jian Shichu just raised a brow in response, resting her wrist on her knee.
“What I want to know is, what did she do?” Song Yi carefully opened the box, revealing a square velvet case inside.
Song Yi lifted it delicately, examining the brand logo on the satin surface.
Jian Shichu replied leisurely, “Ask her yourself. See if she’s embarrassed to tell you.”
Song Yi just curved her lips, looking at her. “Forget it, won’t ask.” Her attention shifted to the box on the table, picking it up to inspect from both sides.
“I like this gift.” She opened it to see a bracelet nestled in the center. “The one I looked at last time?”
Jian Shichu raised a brow in affirmation.
Song Yi closed the box gently, placing it back into the gift box like cherishing a treasure. “Haven’t asked yet—when did you start dating?”
As she restored the ribbon to its original state.
Jian Shichu’s drinking paused. She met Song Yi’s eyes, swallowed with difficulty, then replied, “Where would I find time to date.”
“No dating?” Song Yi let out a chill laugh, chin lifting slightly. “Then where’d that strawberry on your collarbone come from?”
The question embarrassed her. Her hand instinctively tugged at her collar to cover it, staring straight ahead as Song Yi tied the bow.
Last night’s events flashed through her mind like a movie, turning her ears red. Wen Zhixu hadn’t woken when she left.
After a pause with no answer from Jian Shichu, Song Yi teased, “One-night stand?”
Jian Shichu frowned lightly. “Is it? Seems not.”
“What’s really going on?” Song Yi pushed the gift box toward the center. “Is it that little girl Bai Xue mentioned last time?”
“What are you talking about?” Jian Shichu glanced at her. “No.”
Song Yi smiled faintly. “Then who is it?”
Jian Shichu hesitated, unsure where to begin. After a long pause, she said, “If I said it was my ex, would you find that strange?”
Clearly, when Song Yi heard that word, her brows furrowed. Her dazed gaze lingered for a second before returning to its usual proud and aloof demeanor.
“This is pretty serious,” Song Yi said. “And pretty outrageous too. Did she sleep with you, or did you sleep with her?”
“You…” Jian Shichu looked uncomfortable and helplessly leaned back on the sofa. She didn’t answer that kind of question.
Song Yi watched her for a moment before laughing. “Alright, let’s get serious. What do you plan to do? Have you two decided to go your separate ways, or are you rekindling old flames?”
“I don’t know what she thinks.”
“You don’t know?” Song Yi was still smiling. “Then this matter is even more serious.”
Jian Shichu listened without speaking. When asked what to do, she didn’t know either. She was stuck in an awkward, unspeakable position.
After leaving Song Yi’s office, she was still thinking about it even after getting in the car. Jian Shichu fastened her seatbelt, placed her hand on the steering wheel, then as if something had rung, she picked up her phone and looked at the screen.
There were no missed calls. She had left a note—if Wen Zhixu wanted to find her, she should call. But there was still no sign of that.
After hesitating several times, Jian Shichu dialed that number, waiting anxiously for it to connect. But before it even rang, an electronic female voice announced that the line was busy.
Jian Shichu’s eyes suddenly dimmed. She tried dialing again, but got the same result. Suppressing her anger in the darkness, she locked her phone and tossed it onto the passenger seat.
So, after that night, Wen Zhixu had blocked her…
