Chapter 64: Mustard Flower

When Chu Susu asked this question, Han Xuan was still lowering her head to flip the slices of meat, showing no trace of surprise on her face.

She simply said naturally, “No, it’s not.”

Then she placed another piece of five-flower pork, charred to a crisp at the bottom, onto the plate. “Try it. The crispy skin from the char is delicious.”

Chu Susu frowned, calling her name with a hint of seriousness: “Han Xuan.”

Kong Zhizhen was someone whose weight didn’t exceed the normal range—in fact, she was even a bit slim. It was impossible for her to break the chair by sitting on it.

Even if there had been a problem with the chair leg beforehand, it would have collapsed the moment someone sat down, not after they’d been eating for a while before suddenly toppling over.

Chu Susu also connected it to how she and Kong Zhizhen had gone to get drinks just now, leaving for only a few minutes. If someone had tampered with it, that amount of time would have been plenty.

“Mm.”

Han Xuan finally looked up at her, smiling warmly. “What’s wrong? Are you certain it was me?”

“I’m not certain. I’m just asking you.”

“It wasn’t, oh.” She shook her head, saying slowly once more, “Why do you think someone tampered with it?”

“Because it didn’t look like a normal fall.”

Han Xuan slowly wrapped the meat slice in dipping sauce and picked up some side dish, her tone casual and unconcerned: “Is that so? Then I wouldn’t know.”

Her expression was natural, with no sign of pretense, leaving Chu Susu at a loss for words. A faint confusion clouded her brow, but the thoughts in her mind ultimately just swirled around without being voiced.

The fall had happened right after she and Kong Zhizhen went to get drinks, with only Han Xuan left sitting at the table during that time.

Was there really such a coincidence?

As they spoke, the staff had quickly pulled up the surveillance footage. Since it had happened just minutes ago, it was easy to retrieve—

The surveillance clearly captured Chu Susu and Han Xuan entering, Han Xuan going to the restroom, Kong Zhizhen taking her seat, Han Xuan returning, Chu Susu and Kong Zhizhen going to get drinks… the entire sequence of events. At no point was there any sign of anyone touching that chair.

Before that, the previous customer at their table had also been someone of average build. There was no abnormality when he sat on that chair, and he hadn’t damaged it either.

In other words, the chair had been perfectly fine the whole time. It was only when Kong Zhizhen sat down that the bottom of the right chair leg suddenly cracked and snapped off.

It was strange—the side-angle camera happened to capture the moment perfectly. The chair seemed enchanted, breaking abruptly.

Kong Zhizhen’s friends had all gone with her to the hospital, leaving the staff with no one else to turn to. One of them pulled the two into the surveillance room with a bitter face: “Customers, please help us vouch for this. This really wasn’t a problem with our store.”

“Forget it.” Another staff member shot him a glance, signaling him to stop talking. “The surveillance caught it all. The customer’s foot didn’t even touch the chair leg. It must’ve broken on its own.”

It was probably just poor chair quality. In any case, if the customers called the police or consumer protection bureau, it wouldn’t do them any good. They’d likely have no choice but to eat the loss and compensate.

Chu Susu had wanted to settle the bill, but the staff told her the meal was on the house—as compensation for their fright.

Today’s date had ended on such a note, undoubtedly putting an imperfect period at the end and making the atmosphere suddenly fall into awkward silence.

Chu Susu didn’t speak again until they entered the underground parking garage.

In the end, it was Han Xuan who broke the silence.

Sitting in the passenger seat, she turned to fasten her seatbelt. After Chu Susu started the car, she said softly, “What’s wrong? Are you mad?”

The moment they drove out of the parking lot, the streetlight’s glow spilled into the car, illuminating everywhere except Han Xuan’s eyes, which remained shrouded in the faint shadow of her thick bangs.

“No.” Whether Chu Susu was really watching the road or for some other reason, she didn’t turn back to look at her.

“You don’t believe me?”

“I don’t disbelieve you. It’s just strange. Since you say it wasn’t, then it wasn’t.”

But there was clearly no trust in her tone.

In fact, Chu Susu was inclined to believe it was Han Xuan’s doing. Seeing that she wasn’t admitting it, though she didn’t press further, her mood soured slightly.

Chu Susu wasn’t the type to overflow with sympathy. For one, she wasn’t close with Kong Zhizhen. For two, she found Kong Zhizhen’s behavior today extremely rude. So she truly didn’t care if she got hurt or not—it had nothing to do with her anyway.

She just didn’t understand why Han Xuan wasn’t telling the truth.

Han Xuan fell silent for a moment. “Why do you think it was me?”

She didn’t lift her gaze to look at Chu Susu either, just slightly lowering her head and staring blankly at her knees.

“This is my first time meeting Kong Zhizhen. I have no grudge against her, no reason to make her get hurt.”

Before she could answer, Han Xuan continued slowly on her own, “But you thinking that must mean you have your reasons. Let me think…”

“She was hostile toward me, even said some unpleasant things, right? That’s why you suspected me.”

She had hit the nail on the head.

Chu Susu’s mind whirled, and she realized something: “You saw the message she sent me earlier?”

Her phone font was set larger than the default, mainly so she wouldn’t miss important work emails. That way, when a notification popped up on the screen, she could spot it at a glance.

With Han Xuan sitting right beside her, it was normal for her to have seen that “bland” WeChat message.

“No, I guessed.”

A faint smile curved Han Xuan’s lips, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“So she really did say it, huh?”

“…Yeah. She was very rude. I invited her to get drinks with me earlier precisely to warn her to get lost quickly.”

Chu Susu glanced at the navigation and kept driving, admitting it in a flat tone, devoid of emotion.

“What did she say about me?”

“No need to repeat that stuff. It’ll just make things worse.”

But Han Xuan acted like she hadn’t heard, continuing on her own: “Let me guess. Probably something like… I’m bland? Like a little sheep?”

Before the words even finished, Chu Susu slammed on the brakes, stopping at an empty intersection.

“Han Xuan.”

Her sharp gaze rippled like water as she incredulously called out the other woman’s name.

She could accept Han Xuan knowing “bland”—after all, she might have glimpsed the phone. But “little sheep”?

That was something Chu Susu and Kong Zhizhen had said alone by the self-serve drink machine. Unless Han Xuan had super hearing, how could she repeat Kong Zhizhen’s exact words?

Of course, it wasn’t impossible. Han Xuan might have used some special method. After all, Chu Susu had no idea the true limits of her abilities.

Chu Susu had always thought that while Han Xuan had abilities beyond the ordinary, she rarely used them, only in special circumstances.

But now, she realized where her thinking had gone wrong. When someone has an ability that brings convenience, their desires naturally expand along with it, hard to restrain.

She could understand it, but she couldn’t accept it.

Because Han Xuan doing this made her suddenly lose all sense of security, leaving her with no personal privacy whatsoever.

In that instant, Chu Susu felt like she’d been bugged with a microphone and camera—every move monitored.

“You heard our conversation?” she asked coldly, her beautiful eyes sharp and stern.

Han Xuan lifted her head slightly, meeting Chu Susu’s gaze. Her face was still fair and refined, her expression as calm and composed as ever, like water without fish—clear to the bottom.

“No.”

“Then how could you repeat Kong Zhizhen’s exact words?”

Han Xuan held the small sketchbook in her hand, its contents obscured by her palm, unclear to see.

“Don’t you already know, Susu?” she said calmly. “Even if I didn’t hear it, I always have ways to find out.”

This was an admission that she’d used some method to learn what the two of them had said.

Chu Susu said nothing, but a hint of disappointment crept into her eyes, growing heavier as Han Xuan continued.

“But you,” Han Xuan said softly, “didn’t you already know I’m not ordinary? Why question me about it?”

Chu Susu’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. Her throat suddenly felt dry, and when her vocal cords vibrated, the sound didn’t come out smoothly—like glass scraping, piercingly painful.

She knew that if she had such an ability, she’d probably use it from time to time too. But she absolutely wouldn’t use it on her partner.

Even if they weren’t partners yet.

“This is different. You doing this means you don’t trust me. And I need personal privacy and space. Even if we’re as close as can be, that’s still true.”

Han Xuan blinked, as if this wasn’t a big deal at all, her tone utterly casual: “I do trust you. It’s Kong Zhizhen I don’t trust.”

“Besides, I didn’t invade your privacy. I’ve never tried to look at your phone or your other info.”

Chu Susu didn’t know what to say. She believed Han Xuan wouldn’t stoop that low, but in this moment, she suddenly realized what such an ability truly meant.

Anything Han Xuan wanted to know, she could know at any time.

The car had been parked there for a while now. Han Xuan’s long lashes trembled lightly, something in her eyes like a small creature about to hatch, on the verge of breaking free from its shell.

“Susu.” She blinked again, suppressing the surging purple haze, and said in a pleading tone, “Can we go home first?”

Chu Susu didn’t step on the accelerator right away.

Although she had promised Han Xuan that she’d bring her home before twelve o’clock today, a trace of hesitation suddenly arose in her heart now.

Her previous thoughts wavered.

One reason was that today’s events had left her somewhat displeased, while the other… was an inexplicable resistance—she couldn’t quite say why.

Han Xuan stopped blinking and stared straight at her, asking softly, “What’s wrong? Have you changed your mind?”

“…No, but I want to ask—why do you insist I bring you home before twelve o’clock? Is there a reason?”

If this could help Han Xuan in some way, Chu Susu would still do it; but if not, then she’d just send Han Xuan home.

Han Xuan froze for a moment. “No.”

“But you promised me.” Disappointment shrouded her eyes, spreading wider and wider, her breathing growing rapid as she murmured over and over, “You promised me…”

Chu Susu glanced at the time—it was a little past ten, still early before the twelve o’clock Han Xuan had mentioned.

She suddenly had an illusion.

That the person beside her seemed on the verge of no longer being Han Xuan.