Chapter 36

Gan Xun paused for a moment before handing her the other bag of fruit. “Grapes.”

Swapped one.

So lychees became grapes.

The entire summer tasted sour and sweet.

The air carried the scent of ink soaking into paper—not exactly pleasant, but it lifted Gan Xun’s spirits.

Because the moment she pushed open the door, she knew someone was home waiting for her.

While talking with Zhuang Ping, while scrolling past Gan Hua’s interview video on the subway, while buying fruit and ingredients, she had been thinking about this, wondering what Zhao Chiyun was doing.

Gan Xun couldn’t help but reflect on herself. She wasn’t even that old yet, and she already loved the feeling of someone waiting at home.

She had thought this phase wouldn’t come until a decade later.

Zhao Chiyun stood right in front of her, her face carrying a hint of joy that probably came from practicing calligraphy.

She wore the new pure white short-sleeved shirt from a few days ago. Adapting to local customs, she no longer thought short sleeves made her look like a beggar.

Her porcelain-white arms, including the crooks of her elbows and her elbows themselves, were fully exposed to Gan Xun’s eyes. Whether it was the ambiguously alluring fairness of her skin or Gan Xun’s lack of adjustment to seeing her dressed this way, her heartbeat remained unsteady after spotting them.

Once Gan Xun finished speaking, she was certain she saw a speechless look on Zhao Chiyun’s face.

Even an ancient person’s expression of speechlessness was restrained, unlike modern people who would roll their eyes or purse their lips. Zhao Chiyun’s features were always controlled, trained to move only within strict limits.

First, her brows furrowed ever so slightly, then her lips pressed together in a small motion. She lowered her gaze, hiding her emotions, before raising a hand to take the grapes. She glanced casually into the bag.

A whole cluster, each grape plump and full. So grapes were something people bought in clusters.

Zhao Chiyun still had some basic life knowledge and knew they couldn’t be eaten right away. She instructed, “Go wash them.”

“Okay, I’ll wash them.”

Gan Xun accepted the order and took the grapes back.

This exchange was utterly pointless; its sole purpose was to dispel the earlier atmosphere.

The problem wasn’t with Zhao Chiyun—it was her own fault, Gan Xun thought. She shouldn’t have asked or said it that way; it wasn’t something ordinary roommates would say.

Maybe it was.

So the words themselves weren’t the issue. The problem was that they had kissed last night.

While Gan Xun washed the grapes and peeled the lychees in the kitchen, Zhao Chiyun asked, “How did the talk go?”

“Not bad. Give me a few days. Once they confirm, I’ll take you to get it done.”

Gan Xun peeled a lychee, intending to give it to Zhao Chiyun first. Zhao Chiyun refused, and Gan Xun remembered she hadn’t tested it for poison yet, so she ate it herself.

She didn’t rush to peel a second one, giving Schrödinger’s poison a moment to take effect.

In that interval, she placed the washed grapes in a deep blue fruit bowl.

“Just now, as I came out of the subway station and rode back, guess who I saw?”

Zhao Chiyun had zero interest in guessing—she didn’t know many people. “Who?”

“Xu Yanyan.”

As expected, one of those few.

Zhao Chiyun stared at the lychees. “Did you talk to her?”

Gan Xun peeled one for her and held it to her lips. Zhao Chiyun parted her vermilion lips and took a small bite.

Lychees weren’t suited for nibbling, so the juicy cross-section dripped messily onto Gan Xun’s hand.

Gan Xun froze, using her other hand to catch it.

Her heart raced as she waited for Zhao Chiyun to slowly finish the bite in her mouth and take a second.

As Zhao Chiyun opened her mouth, Gan Xun reminded her, “Eat it in one bite. Don’t act ladylike.”

For some reason, this provoked Zhao Chiyun. Her mouth suddenly opened wide, swallowing the lychee whole, her teeth even grazing Gan Xun’s finger.

“What was that for!”

Accompanying her was like accompanying a tiger—Gan Xun had tried to feed her kindly and got bitten instead.

Apart from her teeth, the temperature of Zhao Chiyun’s lips contrasted sharply with the icy lychee flesh, transferring to Gan Xun’s hand. In that instant, she thought of last night.

After finishing, Zhao Chiyun unhurriedly spat the pit into Gan Xun’s palm, saying in an impersonal tone, “You’ve bitten my hand too.”

“Can’t you be reasonable?” Gan Xun said.

Zhao Chiyun neither confirmed nor denied it.

Gan Xun washed and dried her hand again. In her peripheral vision, Zhao Chiyun stood nearby watching her the whole time.

Having healed her wounds and forgotten the pain, Gan Xun thought of how Zhao Chiyun had said she missed her.

She suddenly felt despicable.

Despicable to Zhao Chiyun, and to herself. She could have been more generous instead of so petty.

How could she know if lychees were tasty without trying one?

Instead of picking up the grape bowl, Gan Xun turned and directly hugged Zhao Chiyun.

Her embrace wasn’t tight, and she left some space between them because she had come back from outside and was sweaty.

Mirror City’s temperature was high today; she didn’t feel fresh enough.

But that deliberate gap was quickly filled by Zhao Chiyun.

Zhao Chiyun hugged her back, gradually pressing closer, holding her tight.

As if Gan Xun hadn’t been gone for three hours, but three months.

Gan Xun immersed herself in it, forgetting where she had read—maybe not in one of Gan Hua’s brainwashing videos—that hugs could release substances that relaxed and pleased people.

So humans were born to love hugging.

Gan Xun hadn’t taken it to heart before—nonsense.

She didn’t like close contact with others; she just wanted to hold the person she liked. It was a psychological need, unrelated to bodily secretions.

But now, Gan Xun thought the theory made sense.

It was precisely because she had tasted the sweetness of intimate contact that she enjoyed this otherwise unreasonable interaction so much.

She hesitated for a moment but admitted, “I missed you quite a bit too.”

Zhao Chiyun had recently been studying modern grammar and wording. Leaning on Gan Xun’s shoulder, she said, “Is that so? ‘Quite a bit’ sounds rather stingy.”

As if it were a polite, reserved response, light on intensity.

Gan Xun stopped being stingy. “I missed you so, so much. That’s why I went out to buy fruit for you, thinking you’d be happy eating it.”

Then, holding a grudge, she added, “I didn’t expect you to eat from my hand and bite me.”

Zhao Chiyun chuckled lightly. “We’re even now. Gan Xun, you’re not allowed to bring it up again.”

The hug lasted too long—long enough that Gan Xun felt herself sweating again. She worried Zhao Chiyun would notice the smell.

So she slowly let go, though her heart was reluctant.

Seeing Zhao Chiyun’s expression, Gan Xun blanked out for a moment, stunned, as if the stunning face in her arms was beyond her expectations.

She finally remembered the original topic. Picking up the fruit bowl to head out, she spoke quickly:

“I ignored Xu Yanyan. Afraid she’d cling to me, I walked away fast. She seems to be begging for reconciliation lately. Cui Can sent me screenshots of her being all clingy and persistent.”

Zhao Chiyun followed behind. “If she wanted to stay together forever, why did she cheat with someone else?”

Gan Xun sat in a dining chair, wiping sweat from her face with a tissue. As she looked down, she caught the faint, elegant fragrance of Zhao Chiyun on her collar.

She thought of Zhuang Ping’s doubts about Zhao Chiyun’s existence and fancifully wondered if Zhao Chiyun wasn’t a time traveler but a spirit from plants or trees, role-playing here.

“In your Mirror Country, men had three wives and four concubines too, right? Nowadays it’s not legally supported, but human nature hasn’t changed. It’s the same principle. People are never satisfied—they always want it all.”

Zhao Chiyun grew solemn, gazing at Gan Xun’s face.

Before she could ask, Gan Xun cut in. “Don’t ask if I’m that kind of person. I’m not.”

“I was going to say—”

Zhao Chiyun said softly, “You should bathe first. You’re already damp.”

Gan Xun froze in place, all her movements halting, her gaze stilling for a few seconds before she asked very seriously, “You mean I’m sweaty?”

Zhao Chiyun was puzzled by the repetition, thinking she hadn’t understood. “Exactly. When I hugged you just now, I felt your clothes damp at the back. Go take a shower. Lunch can wait.”

Gan Xun wanted to kindly suggest that in the future, she shouldn’t speak so elegantly—omitting a few words could make things sound very improper.

But she dropped the thought. If questioned further, she’d be the embarrassed one.

Gan Xun didn’t shower right away, since cooking would make her sweat too. She decided to wait until before her nap.

For lunch, they watched an old historical movie. Gan Xun had seen it before but remembered nothing.

Zhao Chiyun loved it deeply, understanding the plot and characters profoundly, even appreciating the artistic techniques. She explained the subtleties to Gan Xun.

As her explanations delved deeper, Gan Xun focused her gaze on Zhao Chiyun’s face rather than the screen.

At that moment, Zhao Chiyun was calm, wise, radiant—overlapping with yet distinct from the vibrant woman who had spoiledly spat the lychee pit into her palm.

“I never realized it meant that. I wouldn’t have known without you telling me. I watched it in vain before.”

Gan Xun said this to her.

Zhao Chiyun smiled faintly. “Court intrigues and palace secrets—how could you comprehend them? Don’t worry, I’ll explain them all to you. Who knows, maybe one day you can use it as a minor official.”

Gan Xun told her, “I’d love to listen, but I’m not planning to take the exam anymore.”

“Why?”

Zhao Chiyun paused the movie and looked at her seriously.

Gan Xun smiled. “It was never really my goal, just one option I considered. This morning, I figured it out. I’m not interested, never was sincere about it. Taking the exam would be pointless—luck doesn’t favor people like me.”

Zhao Chiyun half-understood.

She didn’t get why start something disliked.

But she understood cutting losses in time.

She nodded. “Then do what you want to do.”

Gan Xun slacked off without ambition. “I want to be kept at home, lying around eating lychees every day.”

Zhao Chiyun said regretfully, “If we were in Mirror Country, I’d treat you that way, keeping you in my residence.”

Gan Xun laughed at the hypothetical. “What if you got married? Would you keep taking me along?”

Zhao Chiyun fell silent for a moment, then restarted the movie and watched quietly for a bit before asking Gan Xun, “And if you got married? Would you be willing to take me along?”

Gan Xun said, “I’ll never get married.”

Zhao Chiyun asked why. Gan Xun shushed her—the good part was coming.

After the movie ended, Gan Xun cleared the dishes, grabbed loungewear, and went to shower.

Zhao Chiyun returned to the bedroom for her nap.

Gan Xun came out, lay on the sofa, covered herself with a blanket, and scrolled her phone for a bit.

She saw Gan Hua’s reply: he knew about the matter.

He neither said he could help nor that he couldn’t.

Fortunately, he didn’t pry further. He had never been interested in Gan Xun’s life.

In her mind, he was like a line of code—not very useful but essential, just a few lines ahead of hers.

As Gan Xun prepared to sleep, she heard Zhao Chiyun calling her from the bedroom.

She asked what was up and opened the bedroom door.

Zhao Chiyun knelt on the bed by the window, pointing at the sky. “Come look—airplane trails.”

The weather was hot, the sky a deep blue, with thick white clouds like mountains.

An airplane passed through the mountains, dragging a long trail behind it.

Gan Xun realized Zhao Chiyun never would have seen this before. She handed her the phone. “You take the photo. Once it’s captured, it’s yours forever—you can look back at it anytime.”

She taught Zhao Chiyun how to use the camera.

After photographing the trail, Zhao Chiyun aimed the lens at her. “Don’t move.”