Chapter 42: MAMA-42 Part 1

Jian Wanji knew the layout of Mi Shanxin’s tiny apartment like the back of her hand. Even with her eyes closed, she could carry Mi Shanxin to the bedroom.

Small unit, poor lighting, on the first floor. The only upside was no stairs to climb. But laundry hung to dry got no sunlight year-round, so clothes always carried a musty, shade-dried scent.

Jian Wanji had lived in a place like this too.

As a person grew older, the flow of time seemed to change.

It felt like after turning twenty-five, a year became half a year. Now, looking back ten years felt like a previous life. Looking back to her childhood when her parents were alive felt like several lifetimes had passed.

If her torment had to be counted from the moment Wan Qingqing took her in, then perhaps she truly had karmic debts from a past life, condemned to be fried and boiled over and over.

Year-round cold showers, euphemistically branded as “fortifying the body.” Even during her period, she’d shiver and yelp from the cold. Every cent of her allowance had to be accounted for.

Of course, even having an allowance was a blessing. But she couldn’t afford painkillers and had to rely on handouts from Sui Yuqian.

Sometimes Jian Wanji thought, even if she planned to have a child, no child would necessarily want to come to her.

Yet the child willing to come was now sprawled on the fleecy, lamb-wool bedsheet she had repeatedly changed, like a figure in a painting.

However, Mi Shanxin wasn’t plump. She couldn’t be the subject of a Western oil painting. Even the Girl with a Pearl Earring would probably be a whole size bigger than her.

The cold indoors was dispelled by the space heater. Still, Mi Shanxin clung to her, whimpering about being cold.

Jian Wanji hadn’t even had time to take off her jacket when she found someone pulling the belt of her trench coat and rubbing it down there.

The wet trail looked like ink wash painting. Mi Shanxin resembled a sprite blooming in a black-and-white inkstone. Elegant on the surface, like a beauty adding incense for a scholar on his examination journey. But in reality, she wanted a full meal and wasn’t about to spare anyone.

If they hadn’t met that day, if there hadn’t been this kind of additional contract, who would Mi Shanxin have sought out to solve her sleep disorder?

That girl they’d hurriedly seen tonight, the one in the slinky golden pleated skirt?

Or some Teacher Xiao Zhou or Teacher Xiao Zhang from her institution? Or that good friend of hers who was as homophobic as a firecracker but kept scamming Mi Shanxin with an unlimited coffee card?

Mi Shanxin was only twenty. What if the person fated for her in this life hadn’t arrived yet?

Had she, Jian Wanji, stolen a march and usurped the nest?

Even if she gained, would she inevitably lose? Not a lost treasure returned, but merely flowers in a mirror, the moon reflected in the water?

Jian Wanji had been orphaned at nine and endured untold suffering living with her grandmother with no one to confide in.

Her teachers told her to be filial to the elderly. Neighbors said Wan Qingqing doted on her, stewing ribs for her every day.

In reality, none of the rib soup was ever for Jian Wanji. It was always radish shreds over rice, just barely filling her stomach.

Back then, Wan Qingqing, who wasn’t yet truly old, squandered her daughter and son-in-law’s inheritance. She consumed another physical legacy, hoping it would extend her own life, so she wouldn’t end up like other old people, raising their children and then raising their grandchildren, working themselves to death.

The coldness, the helplessness that Mi Shanxin experienced was exactly what Jian Wanji had felt. A pain that didn’t require being utterly friendless and kinless to feel.

That was why she did everything she could to improve this shabby little house. When Mi Shanxin worried about the cost of running the space heater, Jian Wanji topped up the electricity bill for the apartment. She’d even altered the records so Mi Shanxin’s father wouldn’t notice anything odd about the charges.

If Sui Yuqian ever learned of these little tricks, she’d mock her again, saying that when the city gate catches fire, the fish in the moat are doomed to be scorched too. It was only a matter of time.

At this point, Jian Wanji knew perfectly well—the fish in the moat of her heart were already cooked to a fragrant crisp.

The girl sprawled in her arms, having rubbed herself against the trench coat belt for ages, was enjoying herself immensely, as if everything was under her control.

Mi Shanxin was still wearing Wan Lingling’s school uniform, hastily thrown on. Her jacket was long gone. Only the top button of her white shirt was still properly fastened; she’d unbuttoned the rest starting from the second one herself.

No matter how much she ground against the belt, it was nothing compared to Jian Wanji’s lips, tongue, and fingers. Consumed by desire, whimpering and sobbing, Mi Shanxin reached out and grabbed Jian Wanji’s hand. Her gaze seemed to ask: Why won’t you devour me yet?

Who was the prey here, exactly?

Jian Wanji had seen countless cases and offered romantic advice to so many people.

But when her own turn came, she realized it was all just armchair strategy.

Usually, Jian Wanji also waited until the room warmed up before starting work. Mi Shanxin treated this as a standard procedure. But now, the space heater had dried up what was wet on her more than once. Jian Wanji still hadn’t made a move. Dissatisfied, Mi Shanxin tugged at Jian Wanji’s collar. “I’m already like this. What do you mean by this? Giving me the space to do it myself?”

Her eyelashes were damp. Desire seemed ready to flow out of her eyes. Jian Wanji covered them. “Weren’t you having quite a good time playing by yourself?”

“How am I supposed to wear this back?”

Mi Shanxin wished she wouldn’t go back. “Then just sleep here.”

The woman chuckled lightly. Mi Shanxin pulled her from the foot of the bed onto the mattress. The mattress was new, the blankets were new, everything was new—everything except the apartment itself.

Mi Shanxin longed to move in with Jian Wanji right now.

Even though their current state could also be considered “day and night,” it was a different kind of “night and day” altogether.

Jian Wanji just smiled without speaking. Her head was bowed, her soft bangs like two clouds. Mi Shanxin toyed with them for a long while, then let go and pointed at her own lips. “Kiss me.”

Jian Wanji was so hard to seduce. Enticement only worked through the atmosphere. She always sobered up just when Mi Shanxin thought she was about to succeed, laying bare Mi Shanxin’s rookie greediness for a settled conclusion.

“Kiss you how?”

Just outside the door, Jian Wanji had clearly kissed her. Now she pretended she hadn’t. Mi Shanxin was so angry she wanted to do a kip-up and sit bolt upright, but her body refused. It was more like a brief struggle, a moth still doomed to fly into the flame.

A muffled chuckle came from the woman’s throat. The room was so small that even a wide-angle lens couldn’t make it seem much bigger. Right now, the two of them looked like little figurines encased in a snow globe.

The vast world was too far away. Snuggling together right this moment—that could be an eternity.

Mi Shanxin could tell the difference between Jian Wanji’s real laugh and her fake ones. Knowing it was real now made her heart pound even harder, the ache below even more unbearable. Thinking there would be another chance, she gave her command: “Then I don’t want you to kiss me anymore. Drink your water and leave.”

They had already undressed to this extent. It wasn’t like they hadn’t been in bed together before. Yet Jian Wanji still feigned innocence. “Drink what water? How do I drink it?”

An old hand in the workplace, Jian Wanji had seen plenty of romantic games. She would even pretend to be a frivolous libertine to escape entrapment, but she still couldn’t escape Mi Shanxin’s palm—this mountain of five fingers molded from foam.

“You lower your head in a moment,” the girl said. Perhaps desire had crashed through her mind, but she hadn’t noticed anything odd about Jian Wanji. She adjusted her position, sprawling on the bed and wriggling slightly.

She was wearing Wan Lingling’s shirt. It wasn’t a perfect fit; the part at the waist was loose, as if it were made to leave room for Jian Wanji’s arm to slip around her.

The hem barely covered three-quarters of her rear. If it were a bit longer, it could cover the triangle zone. If a bit shorter, it would land just below the navel—the perfect length for Wan Lingling.

It didn’t fit Mi Shanxin. And naturally, she wasn’t Jian Wanji’s mother.

Yet, she wanted to be a Mama.

Mi Shanxin had never slept on good bedsheets before. She never knew that fleece sheets could be so hot, and so much smoother than coarse cotton.

The girl was about to scoot up a little more when her ankle was yanked back. She flipped over in the blink of an eye.

A shadow and then the blanket fell over her. Her vision went dim. Someone burrowed under the covers. Jian Wanji had used the trench coat belt to bind Mi Shanxin, fixing her in place.

A pillow, placed there at some point, propped her up. Jian Wanji drank, making loud sipping sounds. She drank until Mi Shanxin was in unbearable agony, sobs escaping her lips.

In her haze, she vaguely heard Jian Wanji say something.

It seemed she was asking her:

Are you choosing me? Or, Have you made your choice?

What did I reply?

She couldn’t remember. Mi Shanxin sank into the chaos. Lines from the school textbooks she’d studied in middle school overlapped and floated with the waves of the sea of passion.

Did I seduce you?

Will you regret it?

Later, when you’ve seen a new world, will you abandon me?

…

Was that Jian Wanji asking, or was it me?

It didn’t matter.

“I love Changchang.” Jian Wanji listened as Mi Shanxin murmured it over and over. This pet name, unknown even to her friends, was like a filthy piece of white paper stamped and tested by a seal, flipped and surging from Mi Shanxin’s lips, from the bed to the bathroom, from consciousness to oblivion, cycling back and forth.

She was someone with nowhere to go. Mi Shanxin was the same.

But their “tenses” were different.

When Jian Wanji left Mi Shanxin’s apartment, she checked the time. The alley at three in the morning was very cold. The night fog was thick.

The 24-hour convenience store was still open. The streetlights wouldn’t turn off until six.

Jian Wanji drove into the dense fog. She had planned to go home and sleep for a bit, but she still had a business trip today, so she ended up tackling the unfinished work instead.

At this hour, when even her Syrian hamster was asleep, the empty room felt like a stone coffin. Even though the floor heating had long been on, Jian Wanji missed Mi Shanxin’s tiny room, her soft bed.

When dawn broke, Jian Wanji showed up at Mi Shanxin’s place again, bringing breakfast.

The girl was still asleep. Jian Wanji turned on the sleep aromatherapy diffuser, then sat on a stool beside her, quietly listening to Mi Shanxin breathe for a while before leaving.

Mi Shanxin was woken up by the chatter of neighbors outside her door.

The New Year was approaching. Spring cleaning was common. Some people were even dismantling their electric fans to wash every blade.