Ding Ya blinked. “Request you?”
She looked at the face so close to her own, finding it hard to suppress the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. She simply leaned forward, pressing her forehead against Shu Chi’s. “Is Boss Shu offering to sing for me?”
Of course, Shu Chi couldn’t. This sudden, intimate proximity was enough to startle her, and she immediately pulled back. Ding Ya was still soaking in the hot spring as she watched Shu Chi get up and leave, tossing out a flustered, “I can’t sing.”
She was clearly trying to flee.
Ding Ya was still chuckling to herself even as she dried her hair. Shu Chi stood far away, applying face cream, and the sound of Ding Ya’s laughter only intensified her embarrassment.
Ding Ya thought to herself: This is too fun.
Is that the kind of “request” I’m thinking of?
Shen Mu had already returned to her room. Her message, sent half an hour ago, contained a photo of herself and Jing Yuqi, with a clear demand for Ding Ya’s evaluation.
Ding Ya played along enthusiastically.
[So compatible.]
Shen Mu replied instantly: Don’t let your mind be so twisted. I’d never dare defile my goddess.
She even added a shy emoji.
Ding Ya laughed again.
Shu Chi’s hair dried very quickly. She changed into her sleepwear. Even as she picked up her phone, hoping to distract herself with something, she was still easily stirred by the sound of Ding Ya’s laughter, a reminder of the nonsense she herself had just uttered.
Request. Like requesting a dish.
Request me. In that kind of way.
It was definitely that resident singer’s influence.
The lip print that person had left on the back of Ding Ya’s hand had long been washed away by the hot spring water.
But Shu Chi still felt a tingling numbness in her heart. Even though Ding Ya’s laugh was so radiant, the memory of that wet embrace still set her alight.
People are born to be held—by parents, by family. But as they grow up, these embraces become fewer.
What being embraced felt like… Shu Chi had never stopped to consider it before.
But the last time, when a tearful Ding Ya had rushed over and clung to her waist, Shu Chi hadn’t hugged back very tightly. But even just that was enough for Shu Chi to feel as if some part of her had been filled.
This time, it was Ding Ya who hugged her. It wasn’t a tight grip, but the splash was huge. The warm spring water splattered onto Shu Chi’s face, blinding her for a moment.
Yet inside her heart and mind, there was only Ding Ya.
Along with a whole evening’s worth of surprise, frustration, guilt, jealousy, and self-doubt, all surging up at once.
She was no longer herself—not the mute who had to turn every phrase over three times in her head before speaking.
“Is there another activity tomorrow?”
Ding Ya finished blow-drying her hair and walked over. The indoor heating was strong, so she’d only brought her thin spring-and-autumn sleepwear, printed all over with little fox patterns.
Shu Chi glanced at the sleepwear. Ding Ya noticed and asked, “Is it childish? I mean, compared to your plain-colored ones.”
After speaking, she added another question: “Does your company even sell sleepwear?”
Shu Chi shook her head.
Ding Ya let out an “Oh.”
Shu Chi’s phone seemed flooded with messages, buzzing continuously. Seeing Shu Chi glance over, Ding Ya muted her own phone’s sound as she headed toward the bed. “After all that, it’s already this late. Tomorrow, I hope there’s nothing else. I don’t want to play any more games.”
Ding Ya lifted the covers and slipped in. When she did, it barely looked like anyone was there, the duvet barely depressed.
She was truly so petite.
Shu Chi’s heart suddenly softened, and she said, “Then let’s sleep in tomorrow.”
Ding Ya, buried under the blanket with only her head peeking out, looked at Shu Chi. “Of course.”
But the next second, she jolted upright, exclaiming—
“It’s New Year’s in two more minutes! I want to watch.”
The New Year’s countdown was a holiday young people enjoyed. Every New Year’s in Bramble City, Shu Chi had always been at the company.
New Year’s had its promotions, requiring certain positions to remain vigilant.
In recent years, even with more staff hired, she didn’t need to cover shifts daily anymore, but she’d never really been idle.
This year was an exception.
This New Year’s Eve was an exception.
Ding Ya wasn’t watching any countdown programs. The day had been so packed with events that time itself seemed to have stretched endlessly.
She and Shen Mu exchanged idle chatter. When the clock struck all zeroes, they finally sent each other red envelopes.
Simultaneously, their WeChat groups exploded. Many were sending red packets, as if they were celebrating the Lunar New Year along with the Solar New Year.
Ding Ya wasn’t obsessed with grabbing red envelopes. She opened Shu Chi’s WeChat and sent her a red packet.
Shu Chi was lying right beside her.
The bed was massive, leaving a whole space between them. Shu Chi’s phone was also buzzing with messages, big and small.
Even a group chat with her old street vendor friends was receiving red packets.
Shu Chi asked, “Why are you sending me a red envelope?”
Ding Ya even had a special WeChat red envelope skin, one she’d bought specifically. Though she rarely had the occasion to use it.
This little dog-themed cover had sat unused for nearly its entire validity period.
She never expected this year to bring such a coincidence, never imagined she’d be able to give it to her original inspiration.
Without turning her head, Ding Ya said, her tone matter-of-fact, “It’s the New Year. What’s wrong with giving a red envelope?”
Their hair smelled of the same fragrance. A single duvet was politely divided in two, as if the intimacy of their earlier embrace in the hot spring had already become foreign again.
Lying on the other side, Ding Ya said, “You’re so good. What’s wrong with that?”
She hadn’t sent much, just a symbolic, auspicious amount, using her special cover.
Fifty-two point zero, carrying a hint of internet-born romantic implication.
Shu Chi, with a touch of elder rigidity, acted as if Ding Ya being younger meant she shouldn’t be sending her red envelopes.
In response, she sent back three nines. With a decimal point, of course—WeChat system limits individual red packets to two hundred yuan, and the auspicious number was modest.
Both were just aiming for good luck, though what each party truly wished for was anyone’s guess.
Ding Ya said, “You’re so annoying.”
She opened the red packet, laughed softly. “Am I supposed to send you eighty-eight back now?”
Shu Chi said, “No need.”
Just then, Su Dinghun, whose contact was freshly added, also sent Ding Ya a message—a voice note, at that.
Ding Ya wasn’t wearing earphones and played it aloud directly—
“Sister Ding Ya, happy new year! It’s like I’ve known you for a whole year. Want to have lunch with me tomorrow?”
Her voice was crisp and clear, the kind highly recognizable even in a crowd.
Known her a year, my foot. It hadn’t even been a full day.
Ding Ya laughed and typed back: “Tomorrow I’m going to sleep.”
From the moment that voice message played, Shu Chi felt distracted. She didn’t notice Jing Yuqi’s unhinged ranting in their small WeChat group—
[queen]: Shu Chi, how’s that? Feeling a sense of crisis now?
[Salty Fish Little Fang]: What’s going on????
In their three-person group, Mu Ling was totally out of the loop. She was off traveling, completely unaware of the situation between the other two, and was currently watching fireworks outside.
Shu Chi had no heart to appreciate the firework photos, nor time to respond to Jing Yuqi’s concerned meddling amidst her own busy schedule.
She heard that pleasant female voice coming from Ding Ya’s phone, coquettishly asking: “Is it really not okay? I’m leaving Bramble City tomorrow, you know.”
Ding Ya’s fingers flew across the screen typing a reply. Shu Chi could easily imagine the speed at which she sent her WeChat messages normally.
Su Dinghun: “I’m not asking for morning. noon would be fine, right? You spent so much to ‘request’ me, I have to at least treat you to a meal.”
That voice held entreaty, but without a trace of meekness, as if she were practiced at this kind of banter, half joking.
As expected, Ding Ya was amused. She typed another reply.
Su Dinghun: “Alright, let’s call it a song request then. Requesting me in person is expensive, you know. Of course, for Sister Yaya, I’d do it for free. I can even deliver myself to your door. How’s that?”
This was a blatantly adult innuendo now.
Even if Shu Chi hadn’t paid close attention to the singer’s face, a subconscious awareness existed that the person was good-looking.
During the team-building, Ding Ya had very naturally declared she was a face-judger.
Including earlier when she talked to Shu Chi about her online boyfriend, and even just now while soaking, when discussing her ex—aside from wanting to know what real-life dating felt like, she admitted she’d agreed because the guy was decent-looking.
She liked good-looking people.
Shu Chi’s heart sank.
In that moment, she felt uncertain, and Jing Yuqi’s ridiculous comment echoed unwittingly in her mind.
Shu Chi thought: Even if Ding Ya were into women, she wouldn’t be into someone like me.
Lying beside her, Ding Ya said, “Can you be normal for a second? Isn’t that a bit too forward?”
Despite her words, Ding Ya’s voice was full of laughter, as if she hadn’t been offended at all.
She seemed too lazy to keep typing. “We’ll see. I have to check out and go back tomorrow anyway.”
After sending the message, Ding Ya looked at Shu Chi and gave an apologetic smile. “Are you going to sleep?”
Shu Chi gave a soft “Mm.”
Ding Ya turned over and switched off all the lights except the one on her side of the bed, asking, “Is it too bright?”
Shu Chi replied, “You’re not sleeping?”
Ding Ya said, “No work tomorrow. I’ll play on my phone a bit longer.”
She had her back to Shu Chi, ready to use her phone. Shu Chi reminded her, “That’s bad for your eyes.”
Ding Ya rolled back over. “But I can’t exactly hold it above my head. That’d be too tiring.”
Shu Chi asked, “You’re nearsighted, right? How come I never see you wearing glasses?”
Ding Ya pressed her phone against her pillow, looking at Shu Chi. “My prescription isn’t strong. I just wear contacts when I need to.”
The light was on Ding Ya’s side of the bed. Looking at Shu Chi now, she appeared slightly hazy.
That scar across her eye seemed more distinct. Ding Ya had touched it before, and Shu Chi hadn’t said anything.
The impression Shu Chi gave her was like a chestnut on a branch. Peel away the prickly husk, and inside, it was deliciously fragrant.
It just needed to be boiled or roasted.
She wondered to what degree Shu Chi had been roasted by now.
Shu Chi uttered an “Oh” and slightly closed her eyes, seeming to have more to say.
Ding Ya waited patiently. A few minutes later, she asked, “If you have something to ask, just ask. Don’t wait until I’m playing on my phone again to nag me.”
All her previous polite formality was completely gone now.
But then again, ever since they’d met, Ding Ya hadn’t been very formal, acting overly familiar right from the start.
Pulling hands, hugging. She seemed to have an endless arsenal of weapons tailor-made to disarm the unarmored Shu Chi.
Shu Chi asked, “Are you going to date her?”
She wasn’t looking at Ding Ya, just lying flat on her back. Ding Ya blinked. “Who?”
“That singer.”
As soon as Shu Chi said it, Ding Ya laughed. “Do I really look that desperate to be in a relationship?”
Shu Chi fell silent, which clearly meant yes.
Ding Ya swatted her lightly. “Are you trying to pick someone for me now?”
She wondered: Does this person even know what initiative is?
Shu Chi said, “I’m not picking anyone for you.”
She seemed to think for a moment. “You looked very happy chatting with her.”
Ding Ya shot back instantly: “But I’m also very happy chatting with you.”
This line should have been a nudge for Shu Chi, but she hadn’t expected Shu Chi to turn her back, murmuring dully, “I don’t make you happy.”
Ding Ya called out, “Hey! That’s rude. I’m talking to you, and you’re not even looking at me anymore.”
Shu Chi turned back around, her eyes suddenly meeting Ding Ya’s smiling gaze. The movement had brought her slightly too close.
Ding Ya tugged at the blanket. “If I liked women, it would definitely have to be someone like you.”
From beginning to end, she’d never admitted anything about being with a woman.
Except for that one suspicious instance of inviting Shu Chi home. And then she’d used her ‘Electronic Husband’ to personally verify her orientation. Even now, she was still lying brazenly.
She was taking advantage of Shu Chi’s obliviousness with audacity.
Shu Chi’s brow furrowed. She felt as though she’d just heard the most heartless yet intimate words in the world.
It was as if she had become a kite. The sensation was disturbingly familiar.
She’d felt this before—a sense of almost having something, yet never truly having it at all.
A sense of loss no less dizzying than the free-fall ride she’d braved the year before last.
Panicked, scared, and helpless. Yet hopeful too.
Just a little bit more.
She thought this subconsciously.
“Then… do you like women?”
Only after Shu Chi asked did she realize how hoarse her voice sounded.
Ding Ya gazed at her. The room was silent, but outside the window, it was lively. New Year’s fireworks burst, and it sounded like people were cheering.
But none of that had anything to do with them.
Shu Chi could even hear her own heartbeat. She was just a hand’s width away from Ding Ya. If she leaned in a little more, she could press against the other woman’s cheek.
And do something else.
What was this impulse?
She’d never felt it before.
Shu Chi’s expression was lost and helpless. She wasn’t the delicate, pitiable type, but her detached aura and grounded resilience forged a unique, magnetic appeal.
Ding Ya even wanted to kiss her.
But she couldn’t.
After all, she was the hunter.
Ding Ya said, “I don’t know.”
She didn’t hold Shu Chi’s gaze this time, her eyes lowering slightly. “But being liked by another woman… makes me very happy.”
Just being watched by you makes my heart race.
Ding Ya had applied lip balm before bed. The dim sleep light cast its stingy glow upon it, yet it managed to catch the sheen and reflect into Shu Chi’s eyes.
Shu Chi closed her eyes in agony, stumbling over a halting apology.
And in the very next second, Ding Ya got her wish—a flustered, desperate kiss.
