This was the third night after the boundary-crossing incident. For three whole days, both of them stayed cooped up in the small space, each busy with their own things.
Gan Xun watched video classes and did practice questions, while Zhao Chiyun read books and practiced writing.
Because they were both so busy, their conversations were fewer than before.
Even when they talked, the topics were limited to daily life and movie plots, no different from ordinary friends.
At this moment, their topic shifted from the very important matter of applying for an ID card back to that incident.
Zhao Chiyun’s expression didn’t look fake; she seemed genuinely trying to help her come up with ideas.
Gan Xun didn’t understand—what did “no one owes the other anything” mean? It made kissing sound like a punishment.
In fact, it wasn’t. Whether kissing a beautiful woman or being kissed by one, she would enjoy it immensely. She was glad Zhao Chiyun didn’t understand this.
She couldn’t keep up with ancient people’s thought processes, but she felt a bit moved because this was the solution Zhao Chiyun had proposed.
After agonizing for days and finally saying her apology, Gan Xun felt much better inside.
Regarding the incident, Zhao Chiyun didn’t seem very angry—nowhere near as mad as that night when she bit her and threw a bigger tantrum.
These past few days, Gan Xun had thought about the reason. Was Zhao Chiyun’s lack of emotion because she truly wasn’t angry, or because she adapted too well to her environment and knew how to go with the flow?
The owner of this house was a strange person. Having just arrived, Gan Xun had no choice but to put up with it—after all, it would be unwise to burn bridges before she even stood firm.
If she moved somewhere else, her situation might not be any safer than now.
Every time she thought this way, Gan Xun felt sad, convinced she had messed things up.
Because of this inner turmoil, when she cooked the day before yesterday, she accidentally added two extra spoonfuls of salt. Zhao Chiyun didn’t praise that dish, but she didn’t scold her either.
Gan Xun felt dejected; even when the food was bad, Zhao Chiyun no longer complained.
Now Zhao Chiyun said that as long as she kissed back, it could all be written off. Though Gan Xun knew it was unreliable, she didn’t want to refuse.
“Okay, if you really want to.”
She watched Zhao Chiyun’s expression, worried that Zhao Chiyun was testing her.
Maybe if she agreed, Zhao Chiyun would look down on her instead.
But she had no way to refuse.
Zhao Chiyun had been standing by her side talking. After getting permission, she leaned down and drew close to Gan Xun.
The youthful face from the ID card was replaced by more mature features. The only thing that hadn’t changed much was a pair of warm, deep eyes that quietly and nervously gazed at her.
Zhao Chiyun couldn’t be sure—if that night, when Gan Xun pulled her into her arms and kissed her without a word, had her eyes looked the same in the darkness?
As she thought about these things, Zhao Chiyun appeared to hesitate.
In Gan Xun’s eyes, she parted her lips, as if to speak or to kiss down, but she did nothing and quickly blushed.
She hadn’t noticed the flush creeping onto her flower-like face; she didn’t even try to hide it and continued to study Gan Xun.
She looked so cute like this that Gan Xun’s heart pounded like a fawn ramming; she couldn’t play the wooden person anymore and couldn’t help but smile.
But Zhao Chiyun misunderstood, thinking Gan Xun was laughing at her cowardice, and got secretly annoyed.
She raised her hand to fix Gan Xun’s head in place and directly kissed those lips she had stroked and gazed at before.
She mimicked perfectly, pressing her lips motionlessly against Gan Xun’s.
It was as if she heard Gan Xun’s heartbeat, loud and clear—only later did she realize it was her own.
With her head held steady and Zhao Chiyun’s other hand on her shoulder, it gave Gan Xun tremendous physical stimulation.
After bathing, they shared the same fragrance on their bodies. The familiar scent made Gan Xun intoxicated.
She thought—from the movements, Zhao Chiyun must have experience kissing people.
But the still posture was like a novice. Gan Xun didn’t hold back as she wanted; she closed her eyes and instinctively took the lead.
As if Zhao Chiyun’s lips were coated in honey, she licked them bit by bit until she finally ground heavily against the upper one.
Zhao Chiyun immediately let out a hasty, slightly heavy breath, just like that night when her lips were caressed and she finally couldn’t hold back her panting.
Gan Xun paused but didn’t pull away immediately.
She worried Zhao Chiyun would get technical and say it didn’t count since she had moved.
Sure enough, Zhao Chiyun was nitpicky. Even though she was panting to the point of barely breathing, she didn’t retreat and instead tasted Gan Xun’s lips in return.
Aping the tiger, she did it perfectly.
Her superhuman learning ability gave Gan Xun a wonderful experience.
A woman’s lips were soft and gentle, warmed and moistened by the summer breeze. Even without much sincerity, being treated patiently brought an illusory sense of happiness.
Gan Xun’s mind grew hazy; she thought of far more than just kissing, but she restrained herself. Almost subconsciously, she parted her lips, tempting deeper exploration.
Once Zhao Chiyun sensed it, she pulled back abruptly like a startled animal.
With a shy, dripping-with-embarrassment gaze, she looked at Gan Xun in disbelief, as if just realizing what they had done, and suddenly straightened up.
Then she turned and hurried into the bathroom.
Gan Xun also realized belatedly and annoyed herself over her performance. Was she crazy? One kiss wasn’t enough; she even wanted a deep one.
She didn’t dare guess if Zhao Chiyun was satisfied or even more upset.
Later, she guessed Zhao Chiyun was at least somewhat satisfied, since kissing her didn’t affect her mood.
Because when Zhao Chiyun came out, she said to her, “Gan Xun, you’re very kissable.”
Gan Xun froze in that instant.
She was like a mother self-reflecting during her child’s rebellious phase, carefully pondering where things had gone wrong in the upbringing to cause such a drastic change in personality.
Then she remembered—this was mostly Xu Yanyan’s fault, and that red-haired woman’s, and maybe Cui Can’s too, who often joked around inappropriately.
These people had given Zhao Chiyun a bad influence, making her misunderstand the customs of their modern society.
And Zhao Chiyun happened to be a quick learner; she had subtly accepted it and was willing to interact with people that way.
Gan Xun just happened to be the one she trusted most and didn’t mind.
Gan Xun felt guilty about this.
At the same time, it felt great.
She kept secretly savoring it—kissing Zhao Chiyun felt amazing. It was just that she didn’t have the courage to say something wild like “Zhao Chiyun, you’re very kissable.”
That evening, after her bath, Zhao Chiyun changed into a new nightgown.
She probably just felt the unpleasantness was over and wanted to wear something new.
She didn’t provoke Gan Xun, gracefully passing through the living room with a water cup, her skin dazzlingly white, the hem of her skirt swaying alluringly.
Gan Xun still hadn’t gone back to her room to sleep—she didn’t dare.
But she had dreams all night that wouldn’t pass review, both bewildering and exhilarating. Dreams were a release of the subconscious, so in the morning when she woke, she took a bath first.
During breakfast, Zhao Chiyun asked if she could go along.
Gan Xun talked to her but tried hard not to stare at her lips, and refused: “It’s a long way, and the socializing is boring. Stay home and wait for me.”
Zhao Chiyun didn’t insist.
She went out alone, first rode her bike, then took the subway, and finally walked a few minutes to a villa community called Oak Tree Manor.
After registering and making a phone call, she was allowed in.
This was Gan Xun’s third time here, and she still wasn’t familiar with the home layout.
She followed the servant into the living room, where a woman in a robe—clearly just gotten up—was eating breakfast in the dining room.
“You’re here. Have you eaten?”
“I have.”
Gan Xun politely spoke to her stepmother, Zhuang Ping.
Zhuang Ping was only thirteen years older than Gan Xun and had been married to Gan Xun’s father for ten years as his second wife.
Gan Xun wasn’t very familiar with her. In their few interactions, she sensed this was a woman well-matched with her father— no wonder they could tolerate each other for a decade.
“Then come sit.”
Gan Xun sat down, facing her across the long dining table. She gazed at the grass and flower beds outside the floor-to-ceiling window behind her and zoned out, thinking about taking Zhao Chiyun to a wetland park sometime.
Zhao Chiyun would like it; they hadn’t gone for a walk in days.
The servant brought her a breakfast, but Gan Xun had no appetite and only drank some juice.
“Auntie, I contacted Dad yesterday. Is he home now that I’m here?”
“He’s not.”
Zhuang Ping said flatly, picking up a small bowl and eating with a delicate spoon.
“He got a last-minute notice for a conference and left for the airport early this morning.”
“I see.” How convenient.
“If you have something, you can tell me. It’s not the weekend today, right? You’re here—did you take leave or quit your job?”
“I quit.”
After Gan Xun said it, afraid she’d think she was asking them to find her work, she explained: “I’m studying for exams and don’t plan to work for now.”
Zhuang Ping understood with a knowing smile. She ate a few bites, set down the bowl, and delicately wiped her mouth with an orchid finger.
“I get it. I’ll have someone transfer some money to you. Next time, if it’s something small like this, just call. No need to come all the way in this heat.”
Zhuang Ping ate elegantly, but unlike Zhao Chiyun’s innate nobility, it always felt contrived and uncomfortable to watch.
Gan Xun replied calmly and politely: “I won’t take the money. I want to ask you to help me with something.”
Leaving Oak Tree Manor, Gan Xun walked slowly, suddenly craving to hear Zhao Chiyun’s voice—anything would do.
Then she snapped back to reality and seriously pondered why Zhao Chiyun was willing to kiss her.
Wouldn’t a straight woman reject this so calmly?
On the subway ride back, bored, Gan Xun opened Weibo. Big data caught her slip-up and recommended an interview video with renowned scholar Gan Hua.
It had high likes and reposts, discussing young people’s mental issues, analyzing youth’s tough situations, and earning much resonance and support.
Before Gan Xun could react, the video auto-played: “You can try anything, you can lie flat, you can chase poetry and distant horizons.” It didn’t sound like the same man who had told Gan Xun, “Don’t make trouble; these days, settling down is better than anything.”
“Marriage shouldn’t be tied to childbirth. My wife and I have been together ten years; our love stays fresh precisely because we have no children…”
Gan Xun closed Weibo.
Twenty minutes earlier, Zhuang Ping had looked at her skeptically: “Where exactly did this person come from, little Xun? Is she really your friend, or are you making money off her?”
Gan Xun composed herself for a moment: “She’s my friend, staying at my place. You can go see her anytime. I hope you can mention it to Dad.”
Gan Hua had a wide social circle with connections in relevant departments—much higher success rate than Gan Xun taking Zhao Chiyun directly.
Last time Gan Xun called to check on him and subtly asked if there were any related projects from above—about time travel.
Gan Hua was speechless, unusually concerned about her mental state, then irritably told her no such thing existed and he’d never heard of it.
Zhuang Ping hadn’t outright refused today, so Gan Xun guessed they would help—it wasn’t hard.
Returning home with fruits and ingredients, Gan Xun saw Zhao Chiyun writing at the desk. The paper was cut small.
Gan Xun didn’t know calligraphy, but in her impression, people who wrote usually used large brushes and paper. Zhao Chiyun did the opposite; her characters were small and beautiful.
Zhao Chiyun set down the brush. “You’re finally back.”
Gan Xun joked casually: “Did you miss me?”
“Yes.”
Zhao Chiyun walked over and answered without thinking.
Gan Xun paused and could only hand her the lychees.
“Good answer. Here’s a reward.”
Zhao Chiyun didn’t take them, tilting her head. “Change it to something else.”
