It was too easy to give the fine night extra meaning.
Gan Xun reined in the covetous thoughts that shouldn’t exist, rolled over to face away from Zhao Chiyun, and prepared to fall asleep.
An arm stretched across, landing right on her waist.
The faint glow from the air conditioner kept the room’s darkness from being too deep. At the seam between the two thin quilts, a soft little hill had piled up.
Ever since Gan Xun had moved from the sofa back to the bedroom to sleep, they had each covered themselves with their own quilt. That was the only way two adults could draw a boundary under such limited conditions.
Because of so many improper thoughts, Gan Xun’s mind immediately wavered.
The weight that belonged to another person pressed evenly against part of her, yet it helped share her jumbled thoughts.
It felt like an arrogant cat had jumped onto her, bringing warmth and a pleasant scent.
She didn’t dare move, afraid of scaring it off.
At first, she thought Zhao Chiyun was probably sleeping soundly and had simply stretched out unconsciously.
So she let that arm stay around her. She even quietly lifted her hand in the darkness and brushed the back of it against Zhao Chiyun’s fingers like testing fine porcelain, feeling those neatly trimmed nails.
She wasn’t sure why she did it. Maybe she wanted to touch that hand directly but didn’t dare, so she settled for this compromise to placate herself.
Afterward, she worried that Zhao Chiyun was having another bad dream, feeling sad and heartbroken. She might hold back tears and cry again soon.
Gan Xun perked up her ears, straining to catch any sound from the pillow beside her. The moment Zhao Chiyun made a sob, she would rush over to comfort her.
She wanted that chance but didn’t want Zhao Chiyun to cry.
Later, she realized it wasn’t the case at all.
Zhao Chiyun was awake. And she wasn’t sad.
Because Zhao Chiyun’s nail had poked into the back of her hand.
It didn’t hurt, but four and a half crescent-shaped nail marks were definitely there. Gan Xun could tell even without turning on the light.
Gan Xun grabbed her wrist like she had caught evidence, then rolled over and pinned the offending hand between them.
“What are you doing?” she whispered accusingly.
Zhao Chiyun’s voice was lazy, her tone a bit lower than usual as she mimicked Gan Xun’s speech: “Not doing anything.”
Gan Xun let out a breath of relief at her own caution. Good thing she hadn’t done anything just now.
“You’re not asleep?”
“I was asleep, but you woke me up. What crime is that?”
Her ending note dragged out, laced with teasing.
Gan Xun refused to admit she’d made any noise to disturb anyone: “Better not be pretending to sleep.”
Zhao Chiyun covered her mouth for a small yawn, then let out a light, cheerful laugh: “Pretending for you to see?”
“Yeah, I wanted to see if any villains would take advantage of the situation. Turns out it was just someone rolling over to sleep.”
Her tone was half-serious, half-joking. Gan Xun preferred to believe Zhao Chiyun had just woken up and only realized what she’d done after draping her arm over. Now she was covering for it to avoid awkwardness.
Gan Xun didn’t call her out on it. She let go of her wrist but felt a spark of imbalance from her words and wanted to rebel a little.
“If I’m not sleeping, what am I doing? Hugging people and pinching them like you? Or…”
Gan Xun suddenly leaned in very close, her nose almost brushing Zhao Chiyun’s cheek. She heard her breath hitch for a beat before whispering, “Overstepping my bounds with you?”
Zhao Chiyun seemed caught off guard, falling silent for a brief moment.
But Gan Xun hadn’t balanced the scales yet. Soon, Zhao Chiyun replied in her signature tone of imperial nobility: “You lack the guts.”
Then, with a smile, she added confidently: “And the lecherous intent.”
Gan Xun didn’t want her to trust her so much anymore. It would only push them down a narrow path.
She was even more afraid that Zhao Chiyun would eventually find out, realize she was hiding something, and then it would all be over. She would think Gan Xun had schemed all along just to lower her guard.
Gan Xun confessed bluntly: “I have lecherous intent. And the guts too.”
But she knew she couldn’t. It was an unfair game. Once it started, it would turn vicious because she had a natural cheat code.
So she chose to endure, suppressing her delusions.
“Is that so?”
Zhao Chiyun was still joking: “Then are you waiting for me to cry for help first?”
Gan Xun tried hard to be the gentleman: “You can’t be too careful. This isn’t your Mirror Country, where everyone reveres your bloodline. No matter who you’re with, don’t let your guard down. You never know what people are thinking.”
“Alright, go to sleep.”
She spoke earnestly, selflessly laying herself bare.
But Zhao Chiyun didn’t take her words to heart at all. She laughed softly again. “Gan Xun, you’re putting on a show. What’s your motive?”
As she spoke, she even reached out and tapped Gan Xun on the lips, acting utterly unrestrained, like she was mocking a straight girl trying to act profound.
Gan Xun’s actions outpaced her thoughts. She suddenly grabbed her hand.
Remembering the sensation from the last time she’d been touched, she pursed her lips but no longer craved fingertips.
A impulse surged inside her—to kiss her, just seal that mouth.
The impulse was vetoed the instant it nearly happened. It would be too easy, and the easier something was, the steeper the price after.
She didn’t want to lose anything. This hard-won roommate, the study buddy who quietly read books while she reviewed, the person she wanted to care for and protect—they were too precious.
So the lips she had pursed to strike instead bit down lightly on Zhao Chiyun’s finger as a warning.
She swore she hadn’t used any force, but Zhao Chiyun let out a delicate cry of pain and yanked her hand back.
Incredulously, she scolded: “Your lecherous intent and audacity amount to hurting this County Princess?”
Gan Xun didn’t know what had gotten into her either.
“You’re so awful.” The County Princess grew angrier the more she thought about it. She sat up a little and thumped Gan Xun.
Gan Xun burst out laughing from the thump: “Zhao Chiyun, are you a kid? You make such a fuss over a little nip.”
“I said no full names!”
Zhao Chiyun shoved at her, unhappily shouting: “No one’s ever dared treat me like this. You’re so brazen.”
She couldn’t push Gan Xun away. Instead, Gan Xun pulled her down, and she tumbled right into her arms.
A full embrace.
Gan Xun caught her as expected and finally kissed her without thinking, using it to soothe the heartstrings that had been plucked to the breaking point.
But the kiss stopped there, just on the lips, as if only to quiet her.
Gan Xun felt Zhao Chiyun’s breathing change, but she stayed still.
She didn’t dare go further. She pulled back and said, unable to take it: “I’ll get even more brazen, Zhao Chiyun, Chiyun. Stop messing around.”
Zhao Chiyun was probably dazed from the kiss and didn’t argue anymore. Sure enough, she quieted down and lay back.
Gan Xun, realizing what she’d done, stared wide-eyed at the ceiling.
She felt she’d wronged Zhao Chiyun. If only she were a totally straight woman, the kind who admired women but felt no desire.
Then Zhao Chiyun could live freely and safely in her home. They could share a bed, help each other with bras, wear sexy nightgowns, hug and cuddle—even peck cheeks—and it would all be pure affection.
They could be the best of girlfriends, and Zhao Chiyun would have a new home.
But she could never be Zhao Chiyun’s girlfriend.
She could feel how low Zhao Chiyun’s guard was under her care. She was even less wary of girl-on-girl than of her food being poisoned.
So in this moment, Gan Xun felt even more ashamed for betraying that trust.
For the next two nights, Gan Xun slept on the sofa.
Her excuse was flimsy: the sofa was better for exam prep. She’d review until she got sleepy, sleep, then wake and study—like a semi-automatic learning machine.
Zhao Chiyun tactfully said nothing more and never wore that new nightgown.
Fortunately, she seemed to have taken Gan Xun’s words to heart. She stopped being so physically close, stopped making those straight-as-an-arrow jokes.
Zhao Chiyun didn’t press her. She was smart and probably knew a kiss meant nothing in modern society.
Asking about it would only make things more awkward.
It wouldn’t be good for either of them.
That morning after waking up, she didn’t make a fuss. She just told Gan Xun she wanted to eat Kong Family buns again.
Gan Xun was happy to run the errand and took the chance to swallow her apology.
Besides buns, Gan Xun cooked every day. She worried takeout wasn’t clean and might upset Zhao Chiyun’s stomach.
Zhao Chiyun liked her cooking and gave her emotional rewards, but her compliments were always directed at the food now. She never smiled at her with those affectionate eyes again.
Gan Xun would be lying if she said she wasn’t disappointed, but she wasn’t unhappy either. This was good.
That evening, Gan Xun told her: “I have to go out tomorrow morning for a bit, probably two or three hours. Stay home and wait for me. Don’t worry.”
“Going for the exam?”
“No, that’s next week.”
Zhao Chiyun saw she wasn’t being specific and asked: “Something you can’t tell me?”
“Of course I can.”
Gan Xun thought for a moment and gave a rough explanation: “If you want to live conveniently in the modern world or get a job, you need an ID card. I need to figure out how to get you one.”
Zhao Chiyun understood immediately. Mirror Country had them too. “What does yours look like?”
Gan Xun pulled hers from the drawer and handed it over.
Zhao Chiyun first looked at the side with the national emblem and read Gan Xun’s registered address. Then she flipped it over and saw Gan Xun from six years ago.
She immediately laughed, glancing up at the current Gan Xun like she was spotting differences, then looking back down closely.
The old Gan Xun was skinnier, so her features looked even more defined. The photo clearly showed her pupils were different—slightly gray-tinged.
Gan Xun smiled at the camera, reserved and polite, full of youthful charm.
Gan Xun reached out: “Give it back. I was pretty back then, but you’ve stared long enough. That was six years ago—eighteen, gone forever.”
“You’re not much different from back then. I think now…”
Zhao Chiyun suddenly stopped.
Gan Xun’s perceptiveness kicked in at the wrong time. She guessed Zhao Chiyun had been about to say she was prettier now. Normally, no issue—but now, Zhao Chiyun didn’t dare.
Zhao Chiyun changed the subject: “Do I need a photo too?”
Gan Xun felt a pang first, then answered: “Yes.”
She explained seriously: “The photo’s easy, but since you appeared out of nowhere, getting an ID card will be tricky. I need to ask around first, see how to fast-track it.”
“Who? Cui Can?”
Gan Xun shook her head, hesitating: “No, just an acquaintance.”
“Thanks for the trouble.”
Zhao Chiyun said: “Thank you for thinking of everything. Gan Xun, you’re good to me. I won’t forget your kindness.”
Gan Xun’s briefly clear conscience suddenly troubled her again. She looked down dejectedly: “I’m not good.”
Under Zhao Chiyun’s puzzled gaze, she said, “Sorry.”
“That night, I shouldn’t have kissed you out of nowhere. I was sick. Please forgive me.”
Zhao Chiyun replied: “Just because you kissed me means you’re not good to me?”
Obviously not.
To put it bluntly, it was taking liberties, taking advantage—but Gan Xun couldn’t bring herself to say it. She just nodded.
Zhao Chiyun thought for a moment and said calmly: “In that case, it’s simple. Let me kiss you back, and we’re even.”
