Chapter 32: Defilement

In the five minutes it took Cui Can to go to the bathroom, Gan Xun felt that Zhao Chiyun might have been arranged by the heavens to be her nemesis.

She ended up not returning the nightgown.

Faced with her calm yet serious question, Gan Xun’s mind went blank, while countless thoughts pushed and squeezed at her.

She wanted to deny it immediately, to keep her suggestion from sounding weird.

She wanted to play it off lightly, to let Zhao Chiyun know that she’d bought it on impulse and regretted it right after checkout—that the nightgown wasn’t cost-effective, wasn’t suitable for lounging at home, and wouldn’t look good on her.

But the more she thought that, the less she could speak.

It was just a nightgown. Why load it with all sorts of nonexistent implications and meanings? Just wear it.

Zhao Chiyun could try any style she wanted.

For a brief moment, Zhao Chiyun leaned in very close, their noses almost touching, her warm breath brushing over.

Fortunately, she pulled back after asking, and went back to watching the children play.

Gan Xun hadn’t even had a chance to speak when Cui Can returned.

It seemed Zhao Chiyun hadn’t really cared about her answer in the first place. She’d just used the question to pin her down.

She turned back to Cui Can with lighthearted cheer. “Shall we go buy books now?”

“Sure, let’s change spots. The bookstore in the mall doesn’t have what you need.”

Their conversation flowed so naturally that Gan Xun’s own awkwardness stood out like a sore thumb.

As they passed a shop window, she glanced briefly at her reflection. Good, she looked calm and even a bit pretty—no sign of that inexplicable panic.

Cui Can drove them away from the mall, and ten minutes later, they pulled up on an old street.

“Our agency’s pens, paper, and reference books all come from this shop. The owner is very professional and polite. If you ask for recommendations, he won’t rip you off.”

The bookstore sat in the middle of an old street in the eastern district. It didn’t look like much from the outside—nothing like those trendy, Instagram-worthy spots.

The interior decor was simple and rustic, centered entirely around books.

Zhao Chiyun perked up at the scent of books and ink. It stirred fragments of memories from Mirror Country, so different from the mall’s modern air conditioning and sterile smells. It reminded her clearly that she belonged to another time and space.

While Cui Can networked and Gan Xun kept her company picking books, she told Gan Xun, “Back at the Prince’s Mansion, my own Book Collection Studio was bigger than this whole shop.”

Gan Xun was at a loss for words. No wonder she thought their home was small—it turned out her book space alone was several times larger than their entire place.

Feeling the gap once again, Gan Xun went numb and said sincerely, “You’re so rich.”

Back then.

Zhao Chiyun pursed her lips in a light smile and said humbly, “Just a little.”

There weren’t many traditional Chinese books published; the shop had only one shelf of them.

Zhao Chiyun picked carefully, and Gan Xun didn’t interrupt. She watched as the complex, traditionalized characters on the books sparked all sorts of whimsical thoughts in her.

It was as if the extra strokes had filled her up too.

She recalled how Zhao Chiyun had once written “Gan Xun” on a blank sheet of paper with a ballpoint pen.

On a sudden whim, she asked, “Why doesn’t the character for ‘Gan’ have a traditional form?”

Zhao Chiyun thought for a moment, shifting her gaze from the shelf to Gan Xun’s face. She smiled and said, “I suppose it’s because ‘Gan’ already captures the finest flavor of the human world, with boundless wonders. For thousands of years, people have pursued it without need to add or subtract a single stroke.”

Gan Xun had just asked casually, something to fill the idle chat. She didn’t care how many strokes her surname had or how it was written.

A few years back, she’d even considered changing her surname, but her grandma and aunt had firmly refused. She’d looked into it and found the process troublesome, impossible without a valid reason or an alternative name.

When introducing herself, she’d say it was the “Gan” from “sweetness,” just to help people get it quickly. She’d never delved into its meaning.

Now Zhao Chiyun told her this.

Zhao Chiyun went back to browsing after speaking, her response not quite on topic, more like playful banter than a lesson in linguistics.

But Gan Xun didn’t care about linguistics.

Zhao Chiyun’s smile was radiant, her usually aloof and noble phoenix eyes catching warm light as she offered an explanation Gan Xun had never heard before.

Gan Xun liked this explanation.

She couldn’t help glancing at Zhao Chiyun’s lips. What a deceptive mouth. How had the person she’d once liked been able to refuse her? Hadn’t Zhao Chiyun praised them like this?

Gan Xun let her thoughts wander, passing the time.

Zhao Chiyun handed her several books to hold. Gan Xun flipped through them—history, literature, modern art. An eclectic mix.

They were hefty; she could already picture Zhao Chiyun reading them before bed and couldn’t help smiling.

She knew brushes, ink, paper, and inkstones were just as important to Zhao Chiyun, so she didn’t interfere and let her choose.

She’d warned her beforehand: nothing priceless here, just stuff good enough for writing. Don’t expect too much.

With a few questions, the owner could tell Zhao Chiyun knew her stuff. He recommended pricey pens and paper. No need for an inkstone—just buy ink.

The price was higher than Gan Xun expected, but worth it.

Still, she could tell Zhao Chiyun only nodded because there were no better options. She hadn’t really liked any of it.

How could the quality of a mass-market bookstore compare to what they’d once obtained by squeezing the people dry?

Hah, exploiters.

After leaving the shop, worried she was dissatisfied, Gan Xun reassured her. “It’s good enough to write with for now. Later, we’ll look for better. But if we go by your ideal standards, Cui Can might have to sell her house just to afford it.”

Cui Can protested, “Why do I have to sell my house?”

Gan Xun replied, “Because I don’t have one.”

“That’s so unfair. I don’t even have a comeback.”

Zhao Chiyun, already in high spirits from the shopping, let out a string of clear, bright laughter.

It was the first time she’d heard such a poor joke.

The street was lined with restaurants, and Gan Xun decided to treat them. She picked the one Cui Can and Zhao Chiyun both thought looked pretty.

She figured a place like that wouldn’t be great, but it actually earned a solid mid-tier score.

Zhao Chiyun said to Cui Can, “Once I’m back and write something, have Gan Xun send it to you. If your place needs a calligraphy or painting teacher, keep a position open for me. Monthly pay can be standard.”

“Same for teaching Go.”

Gan Xun froze. Zhao Chiyun had never mentioned this to her.

Cui Can said happily, “Really? Great, summer classes are starting soon. If you’re willing, I’ll set it up.”

“Seriously. I need to work hard to earn more silver, so I can buy more books in the future.”

She glanced at Gan Xun, took a sip of lemon tea, and added meaningfully, “And nightgowns.”

Cui Can didn’t get it. “Did we buy too few nightgowns?”

“Gan Xun said they were too expensive and told me to exchange it for another one.”

Cui Can laughed upon hearing that, but said nothing—no winking or teasing Gan Xun.

“I’ll arrange it then. Calligraphy is easy; we’re short on good teachers. For Go, I need to prepare more—give it a few months. Join if you’re interested then.”

They sat by the window, and the sun dipped below the horizon.

Gan Xun’s gaze drifted past the treetops to the sidewalk below. A few bicycles were parked under the trees, and some girls walked by arm in arm. With each step, the background light dimmed a bit more.

In an instant, the streetlights along the whole road flickered on.

Every so often, Gan Xun got the feeling she didn’t know Zhao Chiyun at all.

They’d known each other less than a week—not knowing her was normal.

But this depth of “not knowing” only highlighted her own superficiality.

At first, she’d thought Zhao Chiyun was some clueless ancient person. Then she realized that aside from modern gadgets, Zhao Chiyun’s mindset and intelligence matched hers perfectly—maybe even surpassed it; Gan Xun might be a bit dimmer.

She’d thought Zhao Chiyun was an arrogant troublemaker, someone no one could offend, who would rather break than bend for her so-called noble bloodline.

But Zhao Chiyun turned out to be pragmatic. She knew how to coax people, joke around, and wield her charm to get others to serve her willingly.

She’d thought Zhao Chiyun, stuck here against her will, would weep endlessly while clinging to her County Princess dignity.

Instead, Zhao Chiyun was full of vigor. She proactively got a haircut, switched nightgown styles, and sought work for herself.

She hadn’t sat idly by. She’d been thinking: If she couldn’t go back soon, how should she navigate this world?

“Gan Xun? Gan Xun?”

Lost in thought at the window, Gan Xun was snapped back by both of them calling her in unison. “What?”

“Go pay the bill.”

Gan Xun got up silently and headed to the counter.

Zhao Chiyun said to Cui Can, “She spent a lot on me today.” Her tone carried an unconscious note of pride and satisfaction.

“A Xun is a good person. You can rest easy living with her.”

Realizing how that sounded, she quickly added, “Not trying to set you two up or anything. That’s not what I mean. I mean, even as ordinary roommates, you can relax. She’s just temporarily short on cash, but not stingy.”

Zhao Chiyun sensed the awkwardness too and smiled. “Why are you being so careful with your words?”

“She told me not to spout nonsense.”

Cui Can seized the chance to tattle. “She said I’m hinting at stuff, making her feel this and that, leading you to think you’ll be this and that. Anyway, she doesn’t like it and told me to shut up.”

Zhao Chiyun was still smiling, but the curve at her eye corners softened a bit.

“So she really hates those kinds of jokes.”

“That’s just how she is—great sense of boundaries. Otherwise, why would she straight-up block Teacher Lan?”

Cui Can explained, “That’s my business partner who was chasing her.”

After dropping them off at home, Cui Can didn’t come up.

Gan Xun lugged Zhao Chiyun’s clothes and books up the stairs, yawning. “Can’t wear the clothes right away. I’ll wash them tonight—they’ll dry overnight.”

Zhao Chiyun just hummed in response.

“You go shower first?”

Once home, Gan Xun asked her first and keenly noticed her low mood. Maybe she was just tired from shopping.

“Sure.”

Gan Xun saw that she wouldn’t even look at her, just flipped through a book. Feeling uneasy, she tried a topic she might like. “Want to try on the nightgown first? If it’s fine, I’ll toss it in the washer with the rest.”

“No need.”

Gan Xun was secretly relieved but still asked, “Why not try it?”

Zhao Chiyun looked at her with a calm expression. “You’ve reminded me several times today. Clearly, you don’t want to see me in it and don’t like me bothering you about it.”

“From now on, I’ll only change into it before bed. It won’t get in your way anymore.”

Gan Xun was baffled. Zhao Chiyun had guessed part of it, but it didn’t feel that simple.

Zhao Chiyun continued, “If you don’t like sharing a room with me, I’ll sleep on the sofa from now on. No need to bring up guests or whatever. We’re roommates. You can sleep on the sofa without paying rent, so of course I can too.”

“What is it exactly?”

Mentioning the sofa made Gan Xun realize it was serious. “Why are you mad all of a sudden? Because I said the nightgown doesn’t suit you? I was just worried it was too short and you’d hate it when you got back. It was a joke—really, I don’t dislike it.”

Zhao Chiyun studied her expression and said coolly, “I know my limits. No need to cover for me. Whether a woman wears more or less, whether she’s beautiful or ugly—you don’t care. You’re probably afraid that seeing it would sully your reputation.”

Gan Xun had no idea what had happened, but she could hear the emotion in Zhao Chiyun’s voice. She didn’t want to be seen that way.

She felt a twinge of panic too. She didn’t want Zhao Chiyun speaking to her like this. From the moment Zhao Chiyun mentioned getting a job to now talking about keeping distance, Gan Xun felt at a loss.

It was like she’d enjoyed a few days of being completely needed, immersed in it, and couldn’t quickly adjust to the change.

She’d been the evasive feudal one all along, hiding behind pretenses. But she didn’t want Zhao Chiyun to feel disappointed because of it.

She supported Zhao Chiyun in anything she wanted to do.

Her smile grew even gentler. “What reputation do I have? Whoever says I don’t like it—I’ll love seeing you in this one. You didn’t know? I’m just that two-faced.”

Zhao Chiyun almost laughed at her tone but held it back. She drawled, “Then should I go change?”

“Go ahead!”

Gan Xun was fully supportive and handed her the nightgown.

“You’ll look great in it—really show off your figure.” It wouldn’t kill her to look.

Zhao Chiyun took it but didn’t change right away. She checked the label. “This one doesn’t seem machine-washable.”

“You can read that?”

Gan Xun was shocked. She’d picked it up way too fast—who’d taught her?

“I’ll hand-wash it. Leave everything to me.”

She hadn’t planned to wash it herself. The nightgown was pricey, but not so much that she’d bother. Still, soothe her first.

Zhao Chiyun nodded and headed to the bathroom. Before closing the door, she explained, “I can’t read it. I just remembered the saleswoman’s instructions at checkout.”

The door clicked shut.

Leaving Gan Xun standing there, disheveled and bewildered.