Chapter 24: The Final Decision

It was the weather of some typhoon signal.

She cooked at home and watched an entire movie in one go.

Yet she wasn’t alone.

There were two of them.

One was a modern, freshly laid-off citizen who had just turned twenty-four, and the other was a county princess from the Mirror Country who was two years younger—as she claimed, far more impressive than an ordinary princess. Who knew if it was true.

After the movie’s twist-filled ending unfolded into excitement and the case was finally resolved, the destroyed happiness could never be reborn.

As the end credits rolled with the accompanying music, neither of them said much.

Until the guitar practice from upstairs started up, its ridiculous, grating tune shattering the atmosphere.

Rain or shine, it went on without fail. She had to admit that, aside from how awful it sounded, there was a certain perseverance to it.

Gan Xun exchanged a glance with her and they both laughed.

The table was a mess of cups and dishes. They had polished off three plates of food, each downed a cup of iced fruit juice, and only the rib soup remained untouched.

Gan Xun put the leftover soup in the fridge. She wanted to say it could just be reheated tomorrow, but as soon as she opened her mouth and met Zhao Chiyun’s expectant gaze, it was like glue had been poured into her throat—it even hurt.

Zhao Chiyun’s eyes curved upward in a beautiful arc, her gaze soft and lingering when it fell on someone, as if from an era of slow carriages and letters.

Her phoenix eyes brimmed with emotion, deep enough to invite all sorts of fantasies.

When they turned cold, they carried a dignified nobility that commanded respect without anger. It might seem childish to Gan Xun, but she believed Zhao Chiyun could be quite intimidating back in the Mirror Country.

Zhao Chiyun looked puzzled. “Not saying anything?”

“Nothing. You go shower first. I’ll wash the dishes.”

Gan Xun was eager to escape.

Zhao Chiyun didn’t do as she had on the first night—shouting nervously from the bathroom to make sure Gan Xun was waiting outside, that she wouldn’t be abandoned inside.

She took the nightgown she didn’t like, the barely fitting underwear, the rough towel, and headed into the bathroom.

At first, she didn’t close the door. From the kitchen, Gan Xun could see her bent over, a stretch of snow-white, slender nape exposed in her line of sight.

She was carefully washing her face with cleanser, the foam piling up thick and cloud-like on her hands and face.

After rinsing it off, Zhao Chiyun gently patted her face dry with a towel but missed the water droplets clinging to her hair roots. She leaned closer to the mirror and admired her stunning beauty once more.

Then she came to close the door. She saw Gan Xun laughing and found it baffling.

She raised her hand, mimed a gun, and went “bang” at Gan Xun. Then she shut the door.

She learned fast. She might not even know what a gun was—she just knew it was an unfriendly gesture that Gan Xun liked to make, so she picked it up.

The absurd childishness unique to this era became a beautiful ritual in her hands.

Now Gan Xun was browsing typhoon news, staring at its devastating power: uprooting trees, flooding vehicles, bringing danger and destruction to humans.

The howling wind outside was unprecedented. Even with the doors and windows sealed tight, it couldn’t be fully blocked—the old neighborhood’s soundproofing left much to be desired.

Gan Xun hoped there wouldn’t be thunder that night, so Zhao Chiyun could get a good sleep.

Zhao Chiyun emerged from the bathroom like a secret agent, drawing her finger-gun from afar. “Bang—”

Gan Xun smoothly played along, pretending to be shot as she collapsed onto the sofa, eyes wide open.

The ceiling light swayed into her vision. Floral mist from the bathroom escaped, mingling with the rainy dampness in a chaotic haze throughout the living room.

Only when Zhao Chiyun’s slippers clicked across the wooden floor to stand before her did Gan Xun draw her own gun in counterattack. Zhao Chiyun scolded, “Sneak attack. Despicable.”

Gan Xun gladly took the rebuke and told her, “From now on, besides me, don’t make this gesture at just anyone.”

“Because it’s disrespectful. Afraid I’ll offend people,” Zhao Chiyun said knowingly.

“No.”

Gan Xun said seriously, “Because it’s so cute. Others will laugh.”

She didn’t want Zhao Chiyun, in the heat of an argument someday, suddenly pointing a finger-gun at someone. Way too middle-school syndrome.

“Then why didn’t you laugh?”

“I held it back,” Gan Xun said.

“Nonsense.”

It really was that cute. Trust me.

That evening, they returned to the bedroom early. Zhao Chiyun got her wish and slept on the inside, against the wall. She liked reading before bed, and the modern lighting made it so convenient.

Whenever she encountered an unfamiliar simplified character, she handed the book over to Gan Xun.

Gan Xun put on an air of superiority. “You don’t even know this? Are you acting?”

Zhao Chiyun wore a look that said “a summer insect can’t discuss ice” and didn’t bother arguing with this foolish modern person.

Gan Xun started searching for information again—on typhoons, on transmigrators, on any related research around the world.

They chatted idly and circled back to the movie’s scarier moments. Zhao Chiyun said, “Now I finally understand why you, the host, panicked at our first meeting.”

“A stranger lying alive on your bed—who wouldn’t be scared?”

Gan Xun put on a show of lingering fear. “I’m pretty brave, all things considered.”

She was dirt poor, with nothing worth coveting, so she easily bought into Zhao Chiyun’s story.

Anyone else—like Cui Can, with some assets—would have suspected her motives.

It also had to do with Zhao Chiyun’s appearance.

Gan Xun looked at her. Her eyes hadn’t ached or felt dry lately. Clearly, looking at beautiful people was good for the eyes.

Meanwhile, the rational part of her brain chimed in: It’s because you haven’t been working or scrolling your phone nonstop lately.

Gan Xun ignored it.

Zhao Chiyun let out a low laugh, finding it amusing. Recalling Gan Xun’s reaction from back then still brought a lingering savor.

It had only been three days ago, but it felt like three years.

Zhao Chiyun closed her book and listened to the rain just beyond the window. Her tone stayed the same. “I only hope tomorrow morning is like this morning, with the rain letting up. Otherwise, our shoes will get wet again.”

They had an outing planned for tomorrow.

Gan Xun’s phone suddenly went dark. In the screen, she caught her own expression—like she was the one about to be sent away.

Even after lying down, her mood wasn’t great.

Zhao Chiyun said turning off the lights would scare her, because of the movie and the thunder and rain.

Gan Xun left the bedside lamp on. “Let’s sleep like this.”

The lamp cast their shadows on the wallpaper, accompanied by the sound of rain—like two ships about to draw close in foul weather.

She lay down on her side.

Beside her, Zhao Chiyun lay flat with her eyes closed, expression serene, hands neatly overlapped on her abdomen. Her sleeping posture had an ancient elegance, utterly different from last night when she’d fallen asleep hugging Gan Xun.

Her dark hair fanned out across the pillow, carrying the scent of conditioner from the salon. She’d adjusted the neckline of her nightgown before lying down—perfect for Gan Xun’s OCD.

Lightning tore through the blackout curtains, followed by earth-shaking thunder. Zhao Chiyun’s eyes snapped open.

She wasn’t panicked enough to flail about, but it annoyed her all the same. The instant she opened her eyes, Gan Xun squeezed hers shut.

Zhao Chiyun’s voice fell soft as a feather. “Are you asleep?”

Gan Xun opened her eyes and feigned a sleepy daze, murmuring lazily, “Not yet.”

She yawned.

“Me neither.”

“Scared? I have noise-canceling earplugs. Want to try?”

Gan Xun fished them out of the drawer and handed them over. Zhao Chiyun plugged them in, then immediately took them out. “I don’t like the feeling of something foreign.”

“Anyway, I’m right here. I’ll stay with you. No need to be scared.”

Gan Xun figured Zhao Chiyun would ask for another hug tonight—it was the last night, after all—but she didn’t.

Zhao Chiyun wasn’t the clingy type. Last night had been a rare moment of vulnerability. Now, she simply stayed very close, one hand resting in the crook of Gan Xun’s arm, and quietly fell asleep.

The next day, Gan Xun handed Zhao Chiyun a thin jacket. “Put it on over your long sleeves if it’s cold. Roll up the sleeves if it gets hot—don’t bundle up.”

She gave her the new shoes too. Zhao Chiyun said, “This is your birthday gift.” Gan Xun smiled faintly in front of her. “I can save up and buy new ones.”

She packed a handbag with a box of fruit, several bags of snacks, and two bottles of drinks.

Then a backpack with all the changes of clothes, toiletries and skincare products, and two books.

While she packed, Zhao Chiyun ate breakfast. Gan Xun had no appetite and wore no expression, but she couldn’t stop herself.

The weather cooperated that morning—the rain was lighter than at night, though the wind was fierce. Leaves littered the roads, and many trees were bent over.

Gan Xun wouldn’t let Zhao Chiyun walk under the trees. She nervously pulled her along.

Zhao Chiyun kept her head down, carefully stepping around the puddles so as not to dirty the shoes Gan Xun had given her.

It took ages to get a taxi, but doubling the price finally snagged one.

They waited in the rain. Gan Xun held a plain blue checkered umbrella—one of her old company’s birthday perks.

Her usual umbrella, she had tucked into Zhao Chiyun’s bag.

Zhao Chiyun stayed perfectly natural the whole way, not silent at all. Whenever she spotted something interesting, she’d excitedly chat about it with Gan Xun.

The driver was a bit nosy. “What are you two doing heading to the police station with all these bags in this weather?”

Gan Xun went quiet.

Right. How could she be such an awful person?

With the typhoon on its way, she was on her way to dump her “trouble.”

In the gale and downpour, Zhao Chiyun smiled calmly, heading toward an unknown ending and beginning.

Gan Xun didn’t know why Zhao Chiyun never asked something like, “Can I wait until the typhoon passes before I go?” Gan Xun had waited all night for her to say it, but she hadn’t.

Gan Xun couldn’t bring herself to say it either. She was afraid of being laughed at—like a heartless person pretending to be kind, doling out small favors before sending someone away anyway.

The blue sign glowed coldly in the rain. After walking a short way to the entrance, Zhao Chiyun read the characters aloud. “East Port Police Station. Did I get it right?”

“Not a single character wrong. Garden Neighborhood falls under East Port’s jurisdiction,” Gan Xun explained.

Zhao Chiyun nodded and glanced around. There were no drums or guards.

“I can just go in, right?”

“Yeah. I’ll go with you.”

Zhao Chiyun didn’t budge. Under the umbrella, hands clasped behind her back, she bent down to peer up at Gan Xun’s face. “Stop moping. This place looks quite grand. Must be a good spot.”

Gan Xun’s smile was forced. “I’m not.”

“You’ve had that smile since last night.” Zhao Chiyun took hold of the hand holding the umbrella. “Did you forget what I said?”

“No, I didn’t. I’m just reluctant to see you go.”

Zhao Chiyun laughed. “Don’t worry. Maybe they really can send me back. Even if not, I’ll take care of myself. Once I’m settled, I’ll call you.”

She said proudly, “I’ve got it memorized.”

Raindrops slid down the umbrella’s ribs. Gan Xun’s throat felt stuffed with waterlogged cotton as she said in a strange tone, “Good. I’m not worried. Good. I’ll wait for your call.”

“These three days were really happy, Gan Xun. Take care of yourself.”

Zhao Chiyun smiled. “Let’s go in. Don’t stand here forever—someone’s watching us.”

Their reflections shimmered in the puddles, toes pointed in the same direction.

“Right. I still have to go with you to give a statement. No need to say goodbye yet.” Gan Xun smiled.

They walked side by side. The instant they stepped into the lobby, Gan Xun abruptly grabbed her wrist.

Where their skin touched was icy cold, like the only dry patch in the storm.

In that moment, Gan Xun made her final decision. Her voice was shredded by the monsoon winds.

But utterly firm. “Zhao Chiyun, let’s go home.”

Zhao Chiyun said nothing. She turned her face to look at her, as if confirming her sincerity—and puzzled by her conflict.

A young officer in a blue uniform approached them. “What can I do for you?”

Gan Xun spoke fast and urgently, like she was racing someone for her. “Come with me. I’ll figure something else out.”

Don’t burden society.

She had called to consult yesterday. Things wouldn’t be better for Zhao Chiyun there than by her side.

It had nothing to do with safety or food and shelter. If Zhao Chiyun was afraid of thunder or wanted a hug, it was better with Gan Xun.

Zhao Chiyun’s wrist ached from the grip, but her sense of stability came entirely from that pain.

She said softly, “I believe you.”

“There’s still rib soup in the fridge. I like stewed winter melon—heat some up for me to drink.”