Don’t get narcissistic. Probably because Gan Xun bought them, and seeing she had no nails, it was awkward not to help. Taking someone’s gift meant owing them.
It had to be that.
It could only be that.
She had no sleepiness and tapped “Zi Han Mama.”
Cui Can: [What?]
Gan Xun: [Send me that photo you took?]
Cui Can: [?]
[Gone. Didn’t you delete it yourself?]
[Recover it from recent deletions.]
[At work, no time.]
[….]
[No one multitasks like you.]
[(Rose) Send it over? I suddenly realized you took it great—tall and slim, super atmospheric. Even without classes, you’re an excellent photographer.]
Half a minute later, the photo arrived—half of it.
Only her back view, and due to the cropped proportions, she looked even taller. Cui Can had ruthlessly cut off half her right shoulder.
Cui Can: [Happy now, woman?]
Gan Xun: [Grinding teeth.jpg]
No reply came. Gan Xun rolled over, lay on the pillow, and typed, [Good person, give me the original.]
She spotted a hair by the pillow—jet black, very long, not hers.
She didn’t touch it, just stared until she finally told the truth: [Actually, I wanted to keep it as a memento. It’s our only photo.]
Cui Can: [So annoying!]
[If I dig through to find it for you and see Xu Yanyan’s photos again, how are you going to compensate me for my mental anguish?]
She grumbled curses as she sent the original photo over.
Gan Xun felt a bit guilty and reminded her to delete those photos for good. She also asked if tonight had been really tough for her.
She had drunk the most, but she wasn’t drunk at all.
Cui Can said breakups were always sad, but she wasn’t heartbroken. She knew she had ditched a piece of trash, and things would only get better from here.
Gan Xun sent a hug emoji.
She opened Cui Can’s photo. It was taken on a sloped stretch of road, with Cui Can standing behind them a bit lower down, which made her and Zhao Chiyun look slim and tall.
Under the streetlights, loquat trees gleamed like gold. The fruits were very sour, and shadows swayed in the breeze.
The lighting was half bright, half dim. Zhao Chiyun’s long hair was neatly tied back with a hair tie, draping down like a length of dark silk. Her own hair was tousled by the wind, flaring out wildly.
They held hands—not intertwined like lovers, but Gan Xun gripping her wrist, with half of her hand tucked into Gan Xun’s grasp too.
Gan Xun understood why Cui Can had taken this photo. It was so charged with ambiguity, like they were already a couple. But in that moment, she hadn’t overthought it at all, and neither had Zhao Chiyun. It had felt perfectly natural.
She saved it and stared at the photo for a good long while. Past midnight, the door was gently knocked.
Gan Xun scrambled out of bed to open it. “What’s wrong? Can’t sleep? Bed’s yours. I’ll crash outside.”
Zhao Chiyun shook her head. “I was just about to fall asleep, but…”
“But what?” Gan Xun worried she felt unwell.
Zhao Chiyun looked troubled and finally pointed at the sofa. “There’s a strange noise.”
“Ah? A mouse? No way, not in my place.”
Gan Xun flicked on the main light and took two steps toward the sofa before freezing in place. Her face flushed bright red.
The thunderstorm had tapered off, leaving the living room deathly quiet. But next door, they were lost in the throes of passion. A woman’s high-pitched moans and a man’s low grunts filtered through the thin wall—more distracting than the guitar strumming from upstairs.
Gan Xun spun around, ushered Zhao Chiyun back into the room, and slammed the door shut.
In the small room, the two of them radiated awkwardness from head to toe, studiously avoiding each other’s eyes. One stared down at the bedsheet; the other gazed up at the ceiling.
Gan Xun said, “They made up.”
Arguing disturbed the neighbors, and making up disturbed them too. Heterosexuals were impossible.
“Is making up always like this?”
“Pretty much.”
“Have you heard it before?”
“Yeah. Sometimes when I’m on the sofa scrolling my phone, it happens.”
Occasionally in the mornings, but mostly at night.
When Gan Xun heard it alone, she just found it annoying—too loud, zero beauty to it. She’d record a few seconds and send them to Cui Can for a mutual gripe session.
But Zhao Chiyun wasn’t the type like Cui Can. Gan Xun felt mortified and deeply sorry for letting her hear it.
“You sleep here. I’ll wait till they’re done and head out there.”
Zhao Chiyun asked innocently, “Will they finish soon?”
“…How should I know?” She hadn’t clocked any full sessions for them.
“Then how can you wait it out? It’s late, and we have things tomorrow. We should rest early.”
Zhao Chiyun sat on the edge of the bed, eyeing the two pillows like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Let’s share. Your bed isn’t too small, and I sleep still.”
Gan Xun resisted. “I might not.”
Zhao Chiyun hesitated but held firm. “I didn’t say I minded.”
Pushing back further would just be weird. Even the county princess didn’t care—what was her problem?
Did she really doubt her own self-control so much? That sharing a bed with a pretty friend for one night would lead somewhere?
It wouldn’t make a difference.
Sleep it was.
Gan Xun worried thunder might startle Zhao Chiyun in the night, so she took the inside.
Pressed against the wall, right by the window.
Zhao Chiyun lay sideways along the edge. After lights out, Gan Xun fretted she’d roll off.
Zhao Chiyun had turned off the light. Gan Xun wasn’t sleepy.
She faced the wall, but felt Zhao Chiyun turn over behind her and murmur at her back. “Books say a soft jade and warm fragrance filling one’s arms, love affairs likened to flowers and dew. I thought it would be as beautiful as a spring day.”
“But everything I’ve encountered is so crude. Crude is too strong a word, but it’s hardly beautiful.”
“What book?”
“A forbidden one.”
Gan Xun laughed. “Knew you weren’t such a good girl.”
“What’s the fun in a girl who only knows how to be ‘good’? And anyway, can books really tell good from naughty?”
“You’re spot on.”
Gan Xun turned to face her, half a body length between them. “There must be beautiful romances out there. Maybe we just haven’t seen many.”
“Two days here, and I’ve witnessed more ugliness than in twenty years back in the Great Mirror.”
Gan Xun chuckled at her glum, disdainful tone. “People here are pretty open. They seize the day.”
“You’re not, Gan Xun. You blushed earlier—seem shyer than me.”
“Did I?”
“Denying it again.”
“Fine, say I did.” Gan Xun didn’t argue.
The air conditioner was set low. Zhao Chiyun pulled the blanket tight and asked Gan Xun, “So, are they really enjoying themselves?”
Gan Xun had zero experience. She was nervous as hell but played it cool. “Probably having a blast. Though ‘blast’ starts with ‘pain’—makes it sound earth-shattering.”
“Bystanders find it uncomfortable. Except perverts.”
“What’s a pervert?”
“Someone not like normal people.”
“Then that’s me.”
“Ah?”
Gan Xun’s back smacked against the wall.
Zhao Chiyun said calmly, “I come from olden times. I’m different from you all. I’m the pervert.”
“That’s not how you use it!” It scared her half to death.
Zhao Chiyun laughed softly, the sound tickling Gan Xun’s heart.
She felt foolish. Zhao Chiyun got it fine—she was just teasing, trying to spook her.
Gan Xun reached out and patted the blanket between them to startle her back.
But Zhao Chiyun reached over and covered her hand. “Your…”
Gan Xun yanked it away.
“What’s wrong?” Zhao Chiyun looked baffled.
Gan Xun half-joked, half-serious. “Girls have thin skin.”
“We’ve held hands plenty of times.”
Not in bed, it wasn’t the same.
Gan Xun didn’t say it.
Instead: “On that note, Cui Can snapped our back silhouette today. Sent it before you went to your room. Wanna see?”
“I do.”
Gan Xun fished her phone from under the pillow, unlocked it, opened the gallery, and showed her the saved photo.
The screen was too bright; they both squinted to adjust.
Zhao Chiyun studied it for a bit. The light washed her face ghostly pale, but she still looked stunning.
Gan Xun kept stealing glances.
“So that’s what I look like from behind. Better than the painters back home.”
“You look good from every angle.”
Zhao Chiyun had been facing her sideways. Now she rolled over, propping her elbow right by Gan Xun’s pillow.
She handed the phone back. “Sounds sincere. You looked closest, didn’t you?”
Gan Xun had no clue how to respond. She only knew sometimes she couldn’t even bear to look.
Like right now.
“She didn’t take it because our backs were pretty. It was the hand-holding.”
Gan Xun paused, then smiled. “Yeah, that’s just her style—messing around. Don’t take it to heart.”
“Because she likes girls, she thinks our relationship is… special?”
Gan Xun said, “Yeah, but no harm meant. I already explained it to her.”
Zhao Chiyun asked, “Then we can’t let her know we’re sharing a bed?”
“Of course not!”
Once word got out, even jumping into the Yellow River couldn’t wash it clean.
“I see.”
Zhao Chiyun let out an ambiguous little laugh. “So how do you plan to keep her quiet?”
Gan Xun knew she meant nothing by it, but her mind went straight to the gutter. Vulgarly, she imagined kissing her to shut her up.
She’d been fixated on kissing all night. No idea why—maybe she’d picked up some bad vibes on the outing.
Or maybe Zhao Chiyun was just too close, her posture and tone too intimate. Subconsciously, Gan Xun felt like they were already at that level.
But she held back. “Tomorrow, after we handle things, I’ll make you a big feast?”
“Always food. Gan Xun, you think that’s all I care about?”
Gan Xun started to protest, but Zhao Chiyun cut in. “How about you hug me again instead.”
“What?”
Gan Xun wondered if she’d fallen asleep and this was all a dream starting from the knock. The dream was spiraling out of control.
Zhao Chiyun said honestly, “Today in the hallway, you hugged me and mentioned some Buddhist aura. I didn’t get it, but I liked it.”
“Want another?”
Gan Xun’s embrace felt safe and steady—especially now with the rain picking up outside. Tucked in the corner against the wall, she looked utterly harmless.
She wore blue striped pajamas and always gazed at people with such focused gentleness.
Gan Xun felt awkward but finally blurted, “Are all you ancients this straightforward?”
“I’m just clear-headed. ‘Seize the day’ is a fine phrase. You unwilling?”
Gan Xun admitted, “I’m a little scared.”
Zhao Chiyun startled, wondering if she’d been found out. Then she said seriously, “Scared of what? I won’t do anything to you. It’s your bed.”
“I’ll be straight too. I drank tonight—might be off. Afraid if I hug you, I’ll do something bad.”
“Like what?”
“Like kissing you.”
Gan Xun kept it light. “That’d freak you out.”
“It wouldn’t. So you’re worried the alcohol will make you act rashly on me.”
Zhao Chiyun pondered, then lay back down.
The space between them vanished. They lay nearly touching.
Gan Xun figured she’d backed off. Disappointment hit hard. Don’t toy with me like that—she said a hug was fine.
She threw her arm out and draped it gently over Zhao Chiyun’s stomach. Zhao Chiyun turned into the embrace.
Gan Xun no longer caught her scent from the blanket. She was right there.
Thunder rumbled faintly, again and again.
Gan Xun sucked at geography. She had no idea how typhoons formed—butterfly effect? Or the creator’s random whim?
Everyone’s lives too dull, so mail in a storm to churn up the night.
Zhao Chiyun’s breath ghosted her face. Pressed tight, her leg in sleep skirt draped over Gan Xun’s.
Skin met skin, and even souls grew restless.
Anyone who’s hugged on a bed knows: lying face-to-face, hugging close means it’s physically tough to keep lips from brushing.
Gan Xun tried her best.
She felt like a vessel, gradually filling with Zhao Chiyun’s warmth, her own heartbeat—no longer hollow and adrift.
She loved hugs. Zhao Chiyun did too.
Neither dared move. She lost track of time.
By the time Gan Xun calmed fully, fought off the urge to kiss, and wanted to sleep properly, she heard Zhao Chiyun’s even breaths.
It hit her. She smiled, then very, very carefully kissed the bit of forehead peeking from under Zhao Chiyun’s hair.
She’d wanted to anyway and couldn’t just take liberties. This was compromise.
Lulled by that unfamiliar rhythm of breath, Gan Xun drifted into deep sleep.
The alarm went off next morning. They woke at the exact same moment.
They weren’t spaced half a body apart like at the start, nor still tangled like at the end.
Neither was used to sleeping all stuck together, so they’d unconsciously separated in their sleep.
