They agreed to rest for a bit, but unexpectedly, when the curtains were drawn and then opened again, it was already evening.
The clock swept away the daylight of the new dynasty, yet failed to send her back to Mirror Country.
The air conditioner blew until she grew thirsty. Zhao Chiyun opened the door to find water and once again saw Gan Xun’s sleeping face.
Awake, Gan Xun was like a summer tree—in a windy season, its leaves rustled ceaselessly. Full of vitality, it parted the heat waves, nurturing a pocket of gentle shade.
Asleep, however, she was utterly still, still like a deep blue painting that invited closer scrutiny.
After her shower, she had changed into a pair of short sleep pants, clearly revealing the wound on her calf.
Fortunately, it was shallow and shouldn’t leave a scar.
Zhao Chiyun recalled asking her before sleep, “How did you know?”
Gan Xun seemed frozen in place, as if some treasure sat on the coffee table that she stared at fixedly.
Then she looked up and said, “I’ve known Cui Can for over ten years—how could I not know?”
“Besides, it’s common knowledge. Play around on your phone enough, and you’ll stumble across anything.”
So that was it.
The evening glow beyond the balcony spilled over the rooftop, like a kite laid across the western hills or gold foil melted down and splashed across paper.
Zhao Chiyun forgot all about finding water and gently slid open the door to step out.
In midsummer dusk back in Mirror Country, crowds would climb Sparrow Eave Tower, vying to behold the sunset over Mirror Bright Lake melting into the vast sky.
Generations of literati penned countless poems and rhapsodies; untold painters made copies upon copies.
Zhao Chiyun had never imagined that the evening glow scene she once tired of would prove so hard to see again.
Today, venturing out, she had beheld the local grass and trees, felt the folk customs so utterly unlike those of Mirror Country—and a sense of foreboding had welled in her heart.
In her ears echoed Cui Can’s curious voice: “How to go back.”
Even in a place of such marvels, there was no precedent for summoning and dismissing people at will.
Could the “police station” Gan Xun mentioned truly manage it?
If so, Gan Xun likely would not have kept her for three days. She must have known the authorities lacked any such method before agreeing to give it a try.
She simply wanted to send away a nuisance.
That was hardly unreasonable.
Gan Xun opened her eyes and spotted a graceful silhouette, as if stepped straight from a dream.
She had dreamed Zhao Chiyun suddenly departed, leaving her wistful—not out of reluctance to let her go, but because she hadn’t even managed a farewell.
To meet someone only to never see them again… there was always some regret.
Fortunately, it was just a dream.
She called out, “Zhao Chiyun.”
Zhao Chiyun turned sideways, slender and tall against the vast dusk—like a goddess descending from Witch Mountain.
Gan Xun was struck once more. She thought their current wordless gaze resembled their first meeting after crossing over far more closely.
At least compared to lying naked on the bed.
So she smiled.
Zhao Chiyun returned to the living room and looked down at her from on high, shattering the mood with her words: “If this were the Mirror Dynasty, a commoner shouldn’t address me by name and surname.”
So much for any goddess or enchantress.
The County Princess still couldn’t relinquish her noble airs.
Gan Xun burst out laughing and half-reclined on the sofa. “This isn’t the Mirror Dynasty. If I call you Little Zhao, you’ll have to say ‘yeah.'”
Zhao Chiyun bristled. “A scholar may be slain but not humiliated.”
“And that humiliates you? Names exist to be called.”
Having teased her, Gan Xun smoothed things over. “Alright, just kidding. Loosen up a bit.”
Zhao Chiyun snorted coldly and walked off to the kitchen. She opened the fridge and took out a bottle of iced mineral water.
She loved the fridge—if she could bring one item back, it would outrank even the air conditioner.
She handed the mineral water to Gan Xun. “Even if you must address me, there’s no need for full name and surname.”
She had taken only one bottle, and Gan Xun wasn’t so self-absorbed as to think it was for her. She twisted off the cap helpfully and handed it back.
“Then I’ll call you Chiyun?”
Zhao Chiyun took a sip, her gaze drifting out to the balcony.
The sky had darkened; the glow was gone.
She let out a soft “mm.”
So faint Gan Xun nearly missed it.
“Chiyun.”
“What!”
“Hahaha.”
For the County Princess to let a lowly commoner call her by her intimate name was sacrifice enough—Gan Xun hadn’t the heart to tease her further.
“Time to make dinner. What do you like to eat? Tell me, and I’ll order it.”
“Don’t mention delicacies like mountain treasures, seafood, abalone, or bird’s nest—that would wound me. Instant noodles warning.”
Zhao Chiyun considered and named some everyday ingredients: chicken, duck, fish, pork ribs, lotus root, bamboo shoots.
Fortunately, all were available. Gan Xun quickly placed an online order. “When the ingredients arrive, I’ll show you a few dishes.”
“A few?”
Zhao Chiyun was displeased. From last night through noon, Cui Can had ordered at most six dishes that afternoon—no proper meal at all.
Gan Xun explained that people here championed the clean plate campaign—no wasting food.
Zhao Chiyun didn’t need to guess: such rules bound only common folk. Great houses had always prized lavish spreads.
Very well. In the face of such face-saving words, she wouldn’t call her out. Life was hard enough for little commoners.
Zhao Chiyun took an interest in the phone. During the car ride, she had observed that everyone had one—they might as well have crawled inside.
“Can a phone do anything? Or do you issue commands, and others relay them?”
With half an hour until the ingredients arrived, Gan Xun simply explained the phone’s functions.
Zhao Chiyun listened intently. “No wonder that woman today wanted to add me on WeChat.”
Gan Xun blinked. “And you said you don’t have one?”
“Should I have?”
Gan Xun considered. “Doesn’t matter. Say you don’t, and she’ll assume you’re brushing her off.”
“I dislike her regardless—whether I have one or not, I had no intention of entertaining her. So why bother replying?”
Quite the ice queen.
Gan Xun asked like one querying a kindergarten child, “Then do you like me?”
She braced herself—the County Princess would surely disdain her a bit to assert her status.
Instead, Zhao Chiyun looked at her and said:
“You are, of course, someone worth liking.”
Gan Xun froze.
Why suddenly praise her like that!
“Go on,” Zhao Chiyun prompted.
“…WeChat is an app for communication and payments.”
Gan Xun demonstrated. “We use it to keep in touch with family and friends or for work chats. You can type, send voice messages, video call.”
“If I used it, could I do all that too?”
“Of course.”
“Then I’ll use yours to call Cui Can.”
“You want to reach her?”
Gan Xun encouraged her. “Go ahead. Not sure if she’s in class, though.”
Under Gan Xun’s guidance, Zhao Chiyun placed the voice call herself. Cui Can picked up within seconds. “What’s up?”
“It’s me, Miss Cui.”
Cui Can’s tone turned instantly casual. “County Princess? What’s the word?”
Gan Xun was speechless. That two-faced?
Zhao Chiyun chuckled softly. “I’m learning to use the phone—first call goes to you. It’s 6:23 p.m. now, right?”
First call to you~ Gan Xun pouted.
When Zhao Chiyun wanted to speak nicely, she was very good at it.
So there was no need to be surprised by her kind words.
She deserved them.
