Chapter 29: Between Itch and Pain

Her lips were hot, and her forehead was hot too.

Even after the early morning rain poured down for a long time, the heat did not subside.

When the kiss finally ended, Gan Xun regained her rationality. She actually shouldn’t have done that to a friend.

She wanted to explain, or rather, make excuses.

She had to say something.

For example, modern people comfort others with hugs, and sometimes they couldn’t help but plant a kiss.

Or, in the West, cheek-kissing was normal, and young people had picked up the habit.

These explanations were too feeble, too deliberate, and carried a hint of misleading intent.

She couldn’t voice them. She had lost the ability to speak.

It was as if colorless, odorless glue coated Zhao Chiyun’s forehead, sealing her shut.

Zhao Chiyun remained very quiet throughout. After venting, she had neatly packed away her intense grief.

She slowly reached out, groping in the darkness to find the lips that had kissed her forehead and then pulled away.

Gan Xun’s mouth was very soft. Her kissing manner matched the tone of her voice when she spoke—kind, gentle, making one feel important.

She carefully stroked with her fingertip, as if it had lip balm on it, evenly applying it for Gan Xun.

From the center of the lower lip outward to both sides, then from the corners around to the upper lip.

She had nails, so when Gan Xun felt a slight itch on her lips, she also sensed the skin around them occasionally grazed by the rounded nail tips.

Somewhere between itch and pain.

Her hand carried a citrus scent, perhaps from body wash, or maybe from detergent on her clothes or bedding.

Evaporated by body heat, it mingled with her unique fragrance.

Gan Xun guiltily thought—she deserved ten thousand deaths—that she hadn’t forgotten the brief touch in the living room. It lasted only an instant, maybe two seconds at most.

Her home wasn’t suited for two people. The room was so small; sleeping together would feel stuffy.

Beyond the heat, Gan Xun felt a little breathless, or rather, she didn’t dare breathe, afraid her darker thoughts would spill out with her breath and be discovered, then judged.

But her endurance failed. Near suffocation, she finally exhaled heavily, like a gasp.

The sound filled her struggling self with despair and embarrassment.

The movement on her lips stopped. The fingertip lifted lightly and slowly withdrew.

Amid the relief, Gan Xun felt a sense of loss.

She had sweated a lot, and there were Zhao Chiyun’s recently fallen tears on her too. She wanted to take a shower, but she couldn’t—showering in the middle of the night was weird.

Before this, she hadn’t known that just someone touching her lips with their hand could nearly make her lose it.

Spawning so many improper thoughts.

Zhao Chiyun still said nothing.

She simply rolled over, facing the relatively cooler wall.

When Gan Xun gently blew the handheld fan over her, she fell into a deep sleep.

Gan Xun’s heart raced so fast she felt she couldn’t hide it, though she didn’t know why she instinctively wanted to.

Fortunately, the fan hummed, and wind and rain raged outside. Zhao Chiyun wouldn’t hear.

She wondered if Zhao Chiyun had turned over to sleep because she was truly tired, or a bit angry.

An ancient person might find this too abrupt.

She decided to explain tomorrow.

Gan Xun thought she wouldn’t sleep, but consciousness faded quickly.

When she opened her eyes again, it was past eight in the morning.

Her second half of sleep had been deep. It took her a while to realize Zhao Chiyun was neither on the bed nor in the room.

Opening the bedroom door, she saw Zhao Chiyun already washed up, changed out of pajamas, and sitting primly on the sofa reading a book.

Gan Xun still wasn’t used to her post-haircut look. Seeing her using her own shark clip made her realize there wasn’t as much hair anymore.

The clip wasn’t fastened well—loose and shaky, the black clip wobbling precariously.

Strands half-covered one eyebrow and eye, revealing a glimpse of allure, peerlessly beautiful.

Gan Xun thought ancient people were a bit much. They didn’t switch states directly when looking at someone; they immersed in the moment’s emotion, slightly lifting their lids, half-veiled, gazing with an eternity in a glance.

It left the beheld feeling utterly exposed and at a loss.

This was unmistakably an ancient gaze. Gan Xun could associate it with relevant imagery—this pair of eyes had once beheld golden halls and multitudes, prosperity and bloodshed.

But now, she held a Western cookbook with more pictures than text.

Gan Xun had once wanted to broaden her interests and explore other cuisines, so she’d bought this hardcover Western recipe book from a bookstore.

The photos were enticing, the steps concise.

Gan Xun had tried a few dishes; none were too bad.

Gan Xun asked her, “Are you hungry?”

Zhao Chiyun nodded lightly.

She didn’t speak, nor did her expression change much, as if she were the one just woken, still lingering in another mood.

Despite her restraint, Gan Xun keenly noticed her staring at her own lips for a moment.

As if confirming what that spot she had stroked in the dark last night looked like.

Gan Xun felt breathless again but pretended nonchalance. “Then why didn’t you call me up?”

Zhao Chiyun smiled faintly then, flipping a page in the cookbook. “Letting you sleep half an hour more won’t starve you to death.”

Gan Xun felt herself becoming hopeless.

From those words tinged with amusement, she heard that Zhao Chiyun had deliberately let her sleep in, preferring to endure hunger herself.

The neighborhood still had no power. Gan Xun opened all the windows.

Wind blew in, forceful and rough, but after ventilating, the house cooled down nicely.

Rain still drizzled, but no longer as oppressive as last night.

The neighborhood was a mess, with workers in long raincoats repairing everywhere.

The typhoon was expected to leave Mirror City’s vicinity by noon.

Power should return today.

Gan Xun told her, “If there’s no rain tomorrow, I’ll take you shopping for clothes and a few books.”

“Traditional character ones.”

Zhao Chiyun could read simplified Western cookbooks with relish, which made Gan Xun feel guilty and eager to satisfy her thirst for knowledge.

Zhao Chiyun went along. “Add a set of brush, ink, paper, and inkstone.”

She had been practicing hard-pen calligraphy, but it wasn’t as smooth as wielding a brush.

“Sure, all of it.”

Seeing her so agreeable, Zhao Chiyun was delighted, then remembered. “It’ll cost a lot of silver. You have it, right?”

Gan Xun immediately put on a woebegone expression. “Seems like not quite enough.”

Zhao Chiyun was quite displeased. She couldn’t fathom that in these 24 years, Gan Xun hadn’t saved any family assets.

Hadn’t her clan elders left her some property to stand on?

Right, she probably didn’t come from a good family, or she wouldn’t have inherited those beautiful, unique eyes.

After thinking, Zhao Chiyun said mildly, “Then no need for clothes. I’ll wear yours for now.”

Gan Xun laughed out loud at that, like a parent at a child’s first birthday grab, relieved when the kid chose stationery over toys.

Zhao Chiyun didn’t understand. “Why laugh?”

Gan Xun made an excuse. “A County Princess is different from ordinary people. If it were me, I’d skip the books and pick pretty clothes first.”

“Is that so.”

Zhao Chiyun neither confirmed nor denied, unelated by the praise. She eyed her up and down. “I never took you for someone who fusses over appearances.”

So cutting. Gan Xun slunk off to wash up.

When breakfast was ready, Gan Xun saw Zhao Chiyun had let her hair down, clip on the coffee table.

Gan Xun got the hint, called her to sit in the dining chair, stood behind her, and tried clipping her hair back up.

Clipping someone else’s hair was different from your own angle. Gan Xun wasn’t skilled; she tried a few times.

The second try failed. She patiently started over.

This time more focused, gathering Zhao Chiyun’s hair with her hand and holding it.

Her fingers inadvertently brushed Zhao Chiyun’s nape, carrying unusual heat.

Zhao Chiyun shuddered uncontrollably, squirming slightly.

Gan Xun thought she’d been too rough. “Does it hurt? Sorry.”

Zhao Chiyun said, “Not hurt. A bit itchy.”

This time it was perfect. Gan Xun admired her handiwork from the front, grinning. “Looks great. Makes you seem so poised.”

“Cooler, right.”

She wanted to say short hair was so convenient but held back—it was obvious, and Zhao Chiyun knew and chose it.

Zhao Chiyun stated flatly, “Never worn such a crude hair accessory.”

“…”

“Not just crude—cheap too.”

Gan Xun mischievously confessed the truth. “9.9 for two. A steal, huh.”

The County Princess, based on prices learned these past days, did the math and looked pained.

If it weren’t actually cooler clipped up, she’d never allow such shoddy junk near her fine hair.

How could someone wear thousands-worth shoes but top it with a few bucks’ worth.

Zhao Chiyun didn’t understand modern people.

After breakfast, the rain lightened. Zhao Chiyun continued listening to lessons and reading. Gan Xun planned to study too.

These days she’d revolved around Zhao Chiyun. Now at a pause, with exams looming, she needed to cram a bit.

She opened the coffee tin, added two scoops to her dedicated mug, brewed it, added milk, and sat at the desk.

Zhao Chiyun glanced over curiously. “What did you brew?”

“Top-grade poison.”

Gan Xun said.

Zhao Chiyun leaned in to sniff, not fooled. “I’ve tasted it. The day before yesterday, downstairs from your company, you bought me some.”

That reminded Gan Xun—back then, Zhao Chiyun tried a sip and quit; Gan Xun drank the rest.

Mid-sip, Zhao Chiyun suddenly wanted more. “I’d like to try again.”

Gan Xun handed it over casually.

Zhao Chiyun nitpicked. “Why not get me a fresh cup?”

“You picky?”

“Don’t I test your food all the time?”

Zhao Chiyun explained honestly. “Testing is protocol, but I don’t touch others’ leftovers.”

Gan Xun laughed in exasperation. “So many rules. I never minded your spit in mine, but now you mind me.”

That day, she ignored Zhao Chiyun and brushed it off to next time.

Now she came sniffing.

Under her gaze, Gan Xun took a small sip first, then passed it. “See, I’m not dead. Drink.”

Zhao Chiyun frowned, disliking the phrasing.

She elegantly lifted the mug, avoiding Gan Xun’s lip mark, and took a careful sip. With extra milk, the bitterness was milder than last time, just right going down.

She nodded. “As expected, yours suits me better.”

Gan Xun smirked inwardly. Hah, lofty County Princess adapting, huh.

So picky, yet praising instant over machine-made.

After Zhao Chiyun took two sips and lost interest, Gan Xun took it back.

She drank coffee to fuel up, so unlike Zhao Chiyun’s savoring, she downed half like water.

Zhao Chiyun saw she truly didn’t mind bitterness. Watching her purse her lips, she stared at those plump lips for a moment.

Then noticed Gan Xun’s face redden.

Guessing the reason, she asked directly, “Gan Xun, why did you kiss me last night?”

It had come.

Gan Xun took another sip of coffee. “To comfort you.”

“Comfort?”

Zhao Chiyun didn’t understand. “No one’s ever comforted me like that.”

“Only as a child when sick, my mother kissed my cheek to lull me to sleep.”

“Same idea as your mom. Here, kissing’s common, even between friends.”

Zhao Chiyun cut straight. “You’ve kissed Cui Can?”

Gan Xun braced. “No.”

“Why not her, but me?”

“Cui Can’s heartless, rarely shows vulnerability around me.”

At that, Zhao Chiyun fell silent.

She knew Gan Xun clearly understood her sadness but hadn’t voiced it to avoid hurting her—instead mentioning Cui Can’s lack.

Gan Xun saw her quiet, feared disbelief, and overexplained protesting too much. “Plus, Cui Can likes girls. She had a girlfriend before, so I couldn’t do that with her.”

Zhao Chiyun paused, walked away, then returned.

She asked Gan Xun, “How do you know I don’t like women?”