Chapter 21: Torment

“Where was I happy?”

To clear up the relationship, Gan Xun asked on Cui Can’s behalf first, putting on an air of having no desires—as if she herself hadn’t enjoyed it much or been very happy.

It was all clearly just a price to pay…

No, that wasn’t fair.

A voice emerged in her heart.

Frankly speaking, she hadn’t suffered more pain these past two days. She was more open-minded than when she was alone, because she couldn’t afford to wallow in sorrow. She had been revolving around Zhao Chiyun the whole time.

Zhao Chiyun’s appearance was like a pleasant surprise—the shock was real, and the joy wasn’t fake.

For example, the hug at their first meeting on Friday, and the car door she opened for her tonight—deep down, it felt like “inviting her into the trap,” though she still wasn’t sure which trap it was.

Zhao Chiyun herself clearly knew this too. The legitimate daughter of the Prince’s Mansion had never known what self-deprecation was.

She knew this was just Gan Xun, a commoner, trying to save face after picking up a bargain. She glanced over lightly and stated calmly, “This County Princess’s body is worth a thousand gold. Why wouldn’t I be happy to sit at the same table with you two today?”

Did they know how many people in the entire Great Mirror wanted to invite her to a banquet?

Even princes and princesses wouldn’t necessarily get a good look from her if they didn’t suit her mood.

It was a new era—no need for them to kowtow in thanks—but they couldn’t be so dumb as to not even know when to be happy!

She had a strong sense of entitlement.

Gan Xun thought.

On her lips, she said, “Yes, very happy. I’ve temporarily escaped my ox-and-horse life and even met a noble County Princess.”

“Come, cheers.”

Zhao Chiyun clinked her plastic cup against Gan Xun’s, then remembered something. “Since you’ve been fired, why do you still have to go to the company tomorrow? And why do you need me to go with you?”

A plate of stir-fried clams was served, steaming hot with thick sauce and a sprinkle of cilantro.

Cui Can had just stretched out her chopsticks when she immediately looked at Gan Xun: You’re so clingy?

“?”

Gan Xun tried to correct the County Princess’s manner of speaking. “Wasn’t it you who said you wanted to follow me? You said you like…”

Cui Can’s gaze turned even stranger.

Forget it, she didn’t say it. No point defending herself.

“Who likes who!”

Cui Can had to ask—these two had developed too quickly. Yesterday, the atmosphere hadn’t been like this.

Tonight was very unusual.

Gan Xun didn’t even want to acknowledge her. “There’s no such thing.”

She answered Zhao Chiyun, “I have things I haven’t packed up, and procedures to handle.”

She added, “So you don’t have to go. I’ll head home right after I’m done.”

Zhao Chiyun disagreed. She picked up a skewer of cumin lamb and said methodically, “I must go even more now, to spare you from facing it alone and feeling desolate inside.”

Gan Xun whispered, “No such thing.”

“No such thing~” Cui Can was a quick study too.

Gan Xun shot her a warning look with her eyes.

Zhao Chiyun learned fast and mimicked the phrase too, making Gan Xun laugh.

Cui Can fumed. “Don’t you dare have two faces.”

After fuming, she returned to the main topic. “So, what’s the plan afterward?”

Compared to their ambiguous atmosphere, Cui Can cared more about this.

Even the most outstanding students, once they left campus, would inevitably be worn down by society and their environment to some degree.

As expected, after Gan Xun returned from grad school, she couldn’t stand out in the sea of talent that was Mirror City and start living a charmed life.

She just progressed through her life step by step.

Gan Xun hadn’t had much luck these past two years, and now she was unemployed. It wasn’t quite desolate, but Cui Can was very worried she would grow increasingly negative.

“We’ll talk about it later.”

Gan Xun didn’t want to have a deep chat in front of Zhao Chiyun. She raised her cup again. “Don’t worry about me. Can anyone really starve to death these days?”

Cui Can didn’t doubt that. “True, with your resume, companies will line up once you apply. At worst, you’ll just pick between good and bad.”

Zhao Chiyun couldn’t help but be curious. “How bad is bad?”

She hoped Gan Xun would quickly find a good job so she could live in a real neighborhood with gardens.

Gan Xun and Cui Can took turns listing them out: heavy workload, low pay, squeezing basic rest time, bosses who don’t treat people like people, office vibes like a graveyard…

Gan Xun recalled last year. “Right after grad school, I joined a big company. We worked over ten hours a day, basically no holidays all year. Weekends were either at the company or working from home in meetings.”

She hadn’t lasted long before she couldn’t take it.

She wasn’t that passionate about shining brightly.

Zhao Chiyun listened in surprise. “So inhumane, and no one cracks down on it?”

Even the exploiting class called it inhumane—that meant it was really bad.

Gan Xun shook her head and gave her a crash course on the concept of “involution”—everyone was helpless against it.

After hearing it, Zhao Chiyun’s gaze toward her grew even kinder, as if she’d never met anyone so pitiful.

She was so gentle that Gan Xun grew restless and wanted to remind her that she was far luckier than her.

The ancients were truly optimistic.

Zhao Chiyun loved good food but wasn’t greedy. She tasted everything, but at most one skewer or a small bite—except for the clams, which she finished a whole plate of.

She said, “These shellfish are quite delicious.”

Gan Xun immediately replied, “If you like them, I’ll buy some tomorrow and cook for you.”

Zhao Chiyun asked her, “You know how to make anything?”

Cui Can, who had been stuffed with dog food all evening, chimed in mischievously. “That’s unclear.”

It was too abrupt. Gan Xun knew her nature—the perfectly good cooking topic had been derailed into something dirty. She could only kick her under the table. Zhao Chiyun sensed the odd atmosphere and guessed they had taken it the wrong way, but she didn’t ask further and just picked up another clam to eat.

Beer was just a flavored drink to the seasoned Cui Can. It was okay for Gan Xun too; she just didn’t like drinking it.

But Zhao Chiyun flushed after drinking it, her face red like a peony in full bloom, her reactions noticeably slower.

Gan Xun took away her cup.

Zhao Chiyun wasn’t greedy for alcohol. When told she couldn’t drink more, she switched to asking for plain water, and Gan Xun naturally refilled it for her.

Cui Can felt heartbroken. She asked seriously, “Does anyone remember I just broke up yesterday, and it was a very ugly breakup?”

Gan Xun and Zhao Chiyun both raised their hands at the same time, their faces equally puzzled—why bring this up out of nowhere?

They simply hadn’t remembered, or they wouldn’t have flaunted their “friendship” so blatantly!

Cui Can was too lazy to call them out.

After eating, Cui Can paid the bill. The three strolled slowly back to Cui Can’s house. The night breeze blew, making everything feel much more comfortable.

Zhao Chiyun couldn’t hold her liquor, her steps unsteady. She generously offered her rolled-up sleeve and fair wrist for Gan Xun to hold, to keep her from falling.

After a few steps, feeling it wasn’t comfortable enough, she unceremoniously switched to linking arms with Gan Xun.

It was pretty hot in summer being pressed together like that, and the social distance was so close that a thin-skinned person like Gan Xun wanted to flee—but she couldn’t just ignore her.

She made small talk. “From what you said, I thought you had a good tolerance for alcohol. You got dizzy after just that little bit?”

Zhao Chiyun didn’t argue. Amid Cui Can’s laughter, she admitted frankly, “Probably because I’ve been overthinking things. Alcohol goes to my head easily.”

Gan Xun didn’t think. “Why?”

Hadn’t they chatted well that evening?

Zhao Chiyun looked at her through hazy phoenix eyes and asked without reproach, “Don’t you know? My being here is already a torment.”

She let go of Gan Xun’s hand and spread her arms. “Good food, good drinks, good breeze, good cool night—but none of it truly belongs to me.”

She turned her head and gave Gan Xun a faint smile, saying softly, “Naturally, I’m worried.”

Under the streetlamp, she swayed as if she might fall somewhere. This time, Gan Xun firmly held her steady.

Gan Xun felt shallow. Zhao Chiyun knew she was going to handle her resignation and would feel down, yet she had thought Zhao Chiyun could stay optimistic even if she couldn’t go back.

Those who shouted about equality weren’t necessarily better at empathy.

They linked arms all the way to the apartment building, with Cui Can snapping a photo from behind.

Zhao Chiyun had drunk alcohol this time, so she was already dizzy. The elevator made her feel even more panicky.

Gan Xun patted her back to soothe her, her brows tightly furrowed.

If not for her insistence on seeing the cat, Gan Xun would have wanted to take a cab straight home.

Cui Can saw it all—Gan Xun might really be done for.

While Zhao Chiyun petted the cat, Cui Can went to the balcony to water the plants and called Gan Xun over.

“If you’re short on money, just tell me. Don’t tough it out alone.”

Gan Xun nodded. “Don’t worry, I still have some on me. If it really runs out, I’ll come to President Cui first thing.”

She was poor but had some sense of crisis, saving a little each month.

“What about her? What do you plan to do?” Cui Can didn’t beat around the bush.

Gan Xun fell silent, thinking of Zhao Chiyun’s half-sober, half-drunk words on the road—staying here was torment.

She said woodenly, “Just like that. Entertain her for one more day tomorrow, then send her to the police station the day after. Her existence isn’t something I can resolve. I can’t take good care of her right now.”

“She shouldn’t stay here and suffer. She has such a good life ahead; at the very least, I should give others a chance to help her.”

“But Gan Xun,”

Cui Can irrationally reminded her, “Can you bear to?”