Han Xuan’s hands and body seemed like two extremes of cold and heat. Her body was clearly beaded with sweat, yet her hands were like ice wine stones just taken out of the fridge, as if blood wasn’t circulating properly.
She lifted the blanket off her body, only for Chu Susu to press it back down. “Cover up properly.”
And so Han Xuan obediently listened.
Chu Susu’s words held some kind of magic for her. Whether sober or not, as long as she heard them, she would comply.
At this moment, Han Xuan was like a fragrant, soft glutinous rice cake, even proactively tearing open its wrapping and offering it right in front of her.
When Chu Susu leaned closer, she could smell a faint lingering lavender scent, but beneath that was another aroma that even a bath couldn’t wash away.
It was extremely similar to lavender, just with a subtle, barely noticeable sweet undertone.
This wasn’t the first time Chu Susu had smelled this on Han Xuan, but only now did she belatedly realize what it came from.
Sage, a common ingredient in perfumes or essential oils—some people even added it to fruit tea for fragrance.
But why did this scent seem embedded deep in her bones, impossible to mask?
Chu Susu’s thoughts snapped back to the present. She pulled out a tissue and gently wiped the sweat beads from Han Xuan’s neck.
Perhaps because her skin was too thin, even a light touch instantly left a white fingerprint, like some kind of incriminating evidence.
Looking at her clean face and the way she nodded obediently no matter what Chu Susu said, never getting angry, Chu Susu suddenly felt an impulse—to lay everything out in front of Han Xuan and talk it through.
Like, exactly whose car did she get into that day? What were those hickeys really from? Was it truly from being bumped by a dog?
She’d encountered this kind of thing before—someone expressing interest in her one day, then the next making out passionately with someone else at the drinking table.
It wasn’t anything rare; after all, humans were animals without principles. The world was full of people seeking thrills.
Whenever Chu Susu found out, she felt no ripples in her heart. She’d just quietly distance herself—part on good terms.
Objectively speaking, it was just a bit of flirting, nothing close to liking. What the other person did with whom had nothing to do with her; no reason to get mad.
Besides, she’d never planned to hang herself on one tree anyway. In the end, it was just not caring enough.
But this time, with Han Xuan as the one involved, an inexplicable irritability bubbled up in Chu Susu’s heart for no reason.
Simply put… she just didn’t think Han Xuan was that kind of person. No matter what others did, at least Han Xuan shouldn’t be.
But how long had they even known each other? All those preconceptions were ones she’d imposed on Han Xuan first. They were just friends; Han Xuan could do whatever she wanted.
Come to think of it, after getting to know Han Xuan, she hadn’t been in touch with many other women.
A sporadic one or two here and there, but compared to before, it was downright quiet.
Though Chu Susu never messed around when she had a girlfriend, single life had never seen her this restrained before.
Probably because work had been too busy lately, leaving no room for distractions.
She suppressed her thoughts, took the fever reducers out of the box, cradled them in her palm, and handed them to Han Xuan.
“Take your medicine first. It’s getting late; time to head back.”
One by one, the capsules slid down her throat. Her pitch-black eyes stared at her, voice like a mosquito’s hum. “I thought… I could stay.”
“Mm, but I’m too busy today. I’ve got a remote meeting later; might not be able to take care of you.” Chu Susu touched her forehead again—still burning hot. “Be good, okay? Go home and get some proper rest. Come over again next time.”
Of course, these were just full-of-holes excuses.
It wasn’t that she couldn’t come up with something more flawless, but Chu Susu said it anyway.
Her home was well soundproofed. If there was a remote meeting, she could just go to the study—the bedroom wouldn’t hear a thing.
Han Xuan quietly lowered her head. Whether she truly believed it or not, she eventually nodded without any resistance.
“No worries. I’ll head back myself. Work comes first; I won’t hold you up.”
Before Chu Susu could speak, she repeated, “I’ll go back on my own just fine.”
It wasn’t too late now; going alone wouldn’t be dangerous.
Normally, Chu Susu would insist on driving her, but this time, she let Han Xuan get up by herself, straighten her clothes, and did nothing.
“I’ll bring your clothes over tomorrow.”
“No need.” Han Xuan gave a smile. “I’ll take them back and hang them to dry myself. As for your clothes, I’ll wash them clean before returning them. Also, can I borrow your umbrella?”
“Mm.”
She was still wearing Chu Susu’s jacket and hoodie. Without a word, she slipped on her shoes, grabbed the umbrella, and prepared to leave.
Just as that figure was about to walk out, Chu Susu stood in place and suddenly called her name.
“Han Xuan.”
Her brows slowly relaxed as she said something headless and baffling. “There are still a lot of large dogs at the pet shop lately, huh.”
Just once would do. Just have Han Xuan tell her now that there was no Tibetan mastiff, that the marks had another cause.
As long as she didn’t lie to her right now.
But lies already spoken—who would admit them?
As expected, Han Xuan turned back, thought for a moment. “Mm, but they’ll all be picked up in a few days. If you want to board Pipi, no worries—they’re managed separately, won’t run into each other.”
Chu Susu forced a smile, unsure what expression it was, instantly deflating.
“Then be careful. Don’t get bumped by them again.”
Han Xuan subconsciously touched her neck. “Mm, I will. Well then… goodbye.”
In a certain venue in the Imperial Capital, a shoot was underway. Lights were constantly being adjusted, the click of shutters unending.
Xu Jiao had just finished up nearby, finally catching a breath to drink some water, only feeling her hands trembling, her pink highlights nearly soaked with sweat.
As a professional makeup artist, she could do two or three hours straight in a crew without feeling tired, but today’s studio shoot—only about forty minutes of makeup—had left Xu Jiao utterly drained.
Today’s subject wasn’t a celebrity, but a beauty influencer invited by the brand for promo photos and videos to hype post-shoot livestream sales.
The brand reps were demanding—one moment the makeup was too light, the next the lipstick too heavy—making her revise endlessly, never satisfied. Xu Jiao had been tossed around plenty.
“Hi everyone, I’m Liu Li. On December 31st’s New Year’s Eve livestream, I’ll be…”
Hearing the “cut” called over there, Xu Jiao knew the promo video was done. She wouldn’t need to go up for touch-ups anymore.
She’d just relaxed, thinking of stepping out for air, when someone patted her shoulder. “Xu Jiao?”
Xu Jiao looked up, squinting to recognize her. “Qiao Qian? What are you doing here?”
“I was about to ask you the same. Our company’s shooting promo pics with an influencer today, so I dropped by to check it out.”
Xu Jiao laughed. “Got it—you’re with the client side. I’m the makeup artist.”
“What a coincidence.” Qiao Qian smiled too. “Wanna grab coffee?”
“Sure.”
Xu Jiao had nothing after this gig, so she was happy to head out.
They found a nearby café and sat facing each other, chatting casually about work.
Xu Jiao worked on sets and knew plenty of gossip, casually mentioning, “Back with that drama West Wind Dusk Falls, you know Zhong Chenyue? The one who played Ning Zilu—her skin was awful. Zero makeup, couldn’t look. Rong Yi’s got great skin, though…”
“Who did Rong Yi play?”
“The female lead, Ning Zisheng.”
Qiao Qian went “oh,” her peripheral glance lingering on those pink highlights, looking like she wanted to say something but held back.
Xu Jiao noticed she wasn’t that into the topic and asked, “What? Something to say?”
Qiao Qian slowly went “mm.” “I’ll be straight then—you won’t mind?”
“Go ahead.”
“That day at the KTV, we ran into each other. Remember?” Qiao Qian said.
At those words, Xu Jiao’s face instantly changed.
Qiao Qian thought, as expected. She knew Xu Jiao had been faking it back then—there had to be something fishy.
“You said you never ate with us at all, but I remember crystal clear—that dinner with Li Le’er’s group, we had crab roe together.”
She stared at the sudden cold sweat beading on Xu Jiao’s forehead, suspicion growing. “You’d drank, sure, but not enough to forget the whole thing, right?”
“…Mm, maybe. I don’t remember clearly.”
Xu Jiao struggled to keep her face calm, fingers clenched tight on her bag. “Sorry, I gotta go.”
Qiao Qian panicked at that.
She was usually bold, loved those horror suspense web novels, but never encountered anything like that in real life. Now brushing up against it, her curiosity itched unbearably.
“Don’t go, Xu Jiao.” She pleaded, grabbing her arm—like a cat clawing inside her. Curiosity was driving her mad. “Sit down and chat with me, okay?”
What exactly was it that made her so scared? To the point that she repeatedly denied it afterward?
“……”
Xu Jiao tried to shake off Qiao Qian’s hand, but the other had great strength—she couldn’t break free. She could only shoot Qiao Qian a warning glare and say in a low voice:
“I’m telling you, you’d better not meddle in this, or you’ll easily get yourself in trouble.”
Qiao Qian perked up even more: “I know full well whether it’ll cause trouble or not. Just tell me—I won’t go blabbing. Heaven knows, earth knows, you know, I know. That’s it, right?”
“Let go!”
“Please!”
As they stalemated, others threw over displeased glances. Xu Jiao didn’t want to draw attention, so she sat back down, gritted her teeth, and said: “You really want to know?”
She’d been bottling this up for too long. Truth be told, she did have the urge to confide.
“Mm!”
“You can promise not to tell your friends?” Xu Jiao’s gaze swept over. “Especially Chu Susu.”
Qiao Qian hesitated a bit. Between loyalty and curiosity, she ultimately chose the latter: “I promise.”
“Alright then.”
Xu Jiao gripped her vape, itching for a couple of puffs: “This isn’t the place to talk.”
“Then…”
“Let’s find a restaurant with private rooms. We can eat and talk.”
