Chapter 40: Foothold

Ever since arriving here, Zhao Chiyun had developed the habit of reading before bed. When she didn’t have new books, she could immerse herself in cookbooks just as enjoyably.

Electricity seemed like a divine blessing to her, able to satisfy her reading obsession at any time.

She leaned against the headboard, reading while trying her best to clear her mind.

Gan Xun scrolled through her phone for a while, found it boring, and scooted over to lean against her, reading together.

Zhao Chiyun didn’t adjust her posture; she simply tilted the book slightly toward her.

The two of them got along naturally, as if the embrace and frantic escape from earlier outside had never happened.

The traditional characters made Gan Xun’s head spin. She read ten lines at a glance, but before she could finish a few sentences, Zhao Chiyun calmly turned the page.

Though she couldn’t keep up with the pace, Gan Xun’s mind wasn’t on the book anyway, so it didn’t matter. Quietly keeping her company was enough.

After waiting a moment, she found an opening to chat. “Do you dislike Cui Lan Book Garden?”

Zhao Chiyun’s eyes stayed on the page as she replied clearly, “Not at all. It’s a rare pure land of books and ink fragrance.”

Gan Xun wanted to ask if she disliked Lan Xiaoxi instead, but the words wouldn’t come out.

From Zhao Chiyun’s earlier questions, she’d guessed part of it, but she wasn’t so self-absorbed as to think it was all because of her.

Zhao Chiyun might simply lack a sense of security and didn’t want any extra emotional entanglements right now.

Gan Xun understood that mindset completely.

“Do you really want to go to work? If not, you can stay home. Summers are hot, and if we budget my money carefully, it could last us two months.”

She spoke to Zhao Chiyun sincerely.

Zhao Chiyun turned a page and replied concisely, “Yes.”

Then she looked at Gan Xun, who had implications behind her words, and said solemnly, “What’s already decided doesn’t need revisiting. Overthinking it only wastes energy.”

“Instead, why ask unnecessarily?”

Gan Xun was cowed by her aura. She guessed Zhao Chiyun must share some master-disciple bond with the abbot of Daxiangguo Temple—as soon as she put on that stern face, Gan Xun could almost smell the temple incense.

She could only voice her true feelings. “I’m worried you don’t like it here, that staying feels grueling, and that having to support yourself is too much.”

“Indeed it is.”

Zhao Chiyun agreed without any polite refusals.

What Gan Xun feared most came true, and she immediately wore a deeply apologetic, helpless expression.

Seeing her pitiful look, Zhao Chiyun smiled and said, “Even so, self-reliance is still better than marrying someone you don’t like.”

That was true, but how could anyone compare those two things?

Gan Xun realized Zhao Chiyun was comforting her and felt deeply guilty. It was too pathetic for a transmigrator like her to need consoling from a native.

So she stopped dwelling on it outwardly, pretended to be convinced, and laughed brightly. “Yeah, yeah. At least here, I’ll never be forced into marriage.”

Zhao Chiyun nodded. “Treat it as a chance to lie low. Everything has pros and cons. If we can return, great. If not, just live accordingly for now. No point lamenting things beyond our control.”

“Going to the Book Garden is my decision alone. It has nothing to do with you—no need to worry.”

She lowered her head to resume reading, then added faintly, “And no need to fake a smile.”

Gan Xun dropped her smile.

She realized she’d misjudged. Zhao Chiyun wasn’t fragile or prone to self-pity. She even had the energy to offer Gan Xun guidance.

No one had a healthier mindset than Zhao Chiyun.

During those few nights they hadn’t slept together, Zhao Chiyun probably hadn’t had time to cry anyway. She’d been busy reading and reflecting, understanding her situation more deeply than anyone.

When Gan Xun still hadn’t replied after a long pause, Zhao Chiyun turned her head to look at her.

Gan Xun was so close that her vision filled with Zhao Chiyun alone.

Her features were stunning, a layer of fine, soft down on her face barely visible—only at this distance and angle. Amid her maturity, faint traces of youthful innocence seeped through, utterly addictive.

Unable to help herself, Gan Xun gently kissed her cheek.

Zhao Chiyun didn’t dodge. She simply lost her faint smile and composure, gazing at Gan Xun. Her long-lashed eyes blinked slightly, like a pair of butterfly wings, beautiful to the point of unreality.

It snapped Gan Xun awake as if from a dream. She abruptly shifted back, then hurriedly switched off the bedroom light.

Night engulfed the entire room.

Darkness offered a sliver of calm to those who wanted to escape, yet it also trapped them inside.

With sight gone, their breathing grew amplified, noses and lips seemingly brushing each other’s ears.

The book closed with a soft sound. Then Zhao Chiyun called, “Gan Xun.”

Gan Xun didn’t respond, as if waiting for her to continue—but nothing followed.

Tentatively, Gan Xun leaned in to kiss her, careful and feather-light.

She had a sincere “sorry” at the ready. Any sign of resistance, and she’d stop and apologize immediately.

Everything went smoothly. Emboldened, she cupped Zhao Chiyun’s face, stroking her cheek over and over as she kissed her tirelessly.

Zhao Chiyun never refused, her posture warm and indulgent. The hand that had been turning pages climbed to Gan Xun’s shoulder instead. Her neatly trimmed nails—left just long enough—gripped through the fabric.

That silent force felt like an invitation, a willing partnership. Driven by impulse, Gan Xun teased open her soft, warm lips with her tongue tip and gently probed inside.

Zhao Chiyun’s breathing hitched—like silk shaken loose and drifting in the air. Broken, delicate, laced with elegant allure, it reminded Gan Xun exactly what she was doing.

From there, it became unstoppable.

The kiss evolved from cautious to lingering and passionate, as if they were exchanging souls, delving as deep as possible to claim each other.

No one could say why a single kiss could convey so much emotion.

Gan Xun figured it out later: nighttime amplified emotions ten thousandfold.

Two people with nothing were seeking a foothold.

At first, Zhao Chiyun passively received it. Once she adjusted, she responded with inexperienced eagerness, though she struggled to catch her breath.

Gan Xun slowed down, letting her recover before continuing. She’d never been more patient.

She held Zhao Chiyun in her arms, their lips clashing fiercely while her hands remained restrained—as if to prove she wanted only this kiss, nothing more.

In truth, she wanted more.

Zhao Chiyun, kissed into a daze, couldn’t control her own hands. One moment they clutched Gan Xun’s shoulder, the next they roamed her face and neck, strength inconsistent.

Gan Xun nearly lost control several times.

Finally, they parted. Harried breathing filled her ears—near-panting, laced with feminine softness and Zhao Chiyun’s innate allure.

Gan Xun couldn’t calm down for ages and had no idea how to wrap things up.

Zhao Chiyun showed no intention of ending it. She adjusted to lie flat, facing the wall.

Gan Xun lay down too, eyes open. As they adjusted to the dark, she traced the ceiling light’s outline, Zhao Chiyun’s taste lingering on her lips and tongue.

Sleep was impossible. She was sure Zhao Chiyun felt the same.

She needed to say something—couldn’t just kiss like that and go to bed without clarity. But “sorry” wouldn’t do again.

“I…”

Not even one word came to mind; the syllable hung there.

Zhao Chiyun’s breathing evened out first, her composure returning faster. “This was my first time like this with anyone.”

Gan Xun wanted to say “mine too,” but it felt wrong—like they were competing.

Her mind flashed to Zhao Chiyun once calling her vulgar. Feeling guilty, she asked softly, “I didn’t make you uncomfortable, did I?”

She replayed the moment; she’d gotten a bit too carried away.

The rush of the other’s body heat had nearly made her lose it. She wasn’t sure if she’d come off as ungentlemanly.

“No.”

“That’s good.”

Aside from the air conditioner’s hum, the tiny bedroom fell silent again—until Zhao Chiyun rolled over to face her.

She spoke once more. “But perhaps because it was my first time…”

Gan Xun caught the hesitation and awkwardness, urging her on while tensing up herself. She dreaded whatever came next, good or bad.

Tonight, her limits felt maxed out.

“I felt a bit uncomfortable.”

Gan Xun’s heart sank. Flustered, she promised, “Then… I’m sorry. I’ll apologize. I’ll watch myself next time. No more.”

“No.”

Seeing Gan Xun still didn’t get it, Zhao Chiyun dropped the euphemisms. In the tiniest voice, she said, “I need to change.”

Only an idiot wouldn’t understand. Gan Xun’s heart soared back up, pounding to escape her chest.

She sat up without a word. “Got it. I’ll grab them for you.”

She flicked on the bedside lamp, illuminating the headboard area, fetched clean underwear from the closet, and handed it to Zhao Chiyun, who had gotten up too.

Her face burned; she didn’t dare look directly. Zhao Chiyun took it and headed out.

Gan Xun called after her, “No need to shower. It’s too late—do it in the morning.”

Zhao Chiyun didn’t reply, just shut the door.

Gan Xun sat on the bed’s edge and glanced back at the spot where they’d embraced and kissed.

The thought of what Zhao Chiyun was doing made her feel feverish, body hot and strengthless.

What did this mean? Could it mean anything?

She had no idea.

Zhao Chiyun returned as if nothing had happened, climbed into bed on the inside, exchanged goodnights with Gan Xun, and settled with her back to her.

Gan Xun lay awake, thoughts racing. Only after an unknowable time did the breathing beside her grow steady.

Zhao Chiyun had fallen asleep.

The day Gan Hua messaged her, Gan Xun was submitting resumes and had lined up two interviews.

Gan Hua sent a voice note; Gan Xun skipped listening and converted it to text.

He explained that getting the ID card was a hassle—household registration had to be sorted first. He warned her about the guarantee: if mishandled, endless troubles could follow.

Finally, he said it could be done and suggested they grab a meal together in the next couple days.

Gan Xun had zero interest in dining with Gan Hua—it’d ruin her appetite.

But if it meant they could proceed, she was thrilled. The sooner the ID card, the easier life for Zhao Chiyun.

Fine, she’d endure the unpleasant but necessary socializing.

Gan Xun agreed promptly and asked if she should bring Zhao Chiyun.

Gan Hua said, “Doesn’t matter if she comes.”

Gan Xun checked with Zhao Chiyun, who agreed—even if waiting outside.

“I don’t want you running around alone for my sake anymore.”

“Alright. We’ll go together once the time’s set.”

These past few days, they’d holed up at home. Their shared activity was movie-watching—at least two films a day—as Zhao Chiyun rapidly absorbed the world.

She also devoted hours to practicing calligraphy and reading, while Gan Xun handled chores and job applications.

After that nighttime kiss, both felt a lingering wariness. They hadn’t gone that deep again.

But once you’d tasted the sweetness, the craving took root. Gan Xun could only suppress it repeatedly.

Sometimes the urge hit hard—a mad desire to get close, to be intimate. Without an opening, she’d settle for holding Zhao Chiyun’s hand on walks.

That evening, as they strolled the complex to aid digestion, Zhao Chiyun spoke abruptly while Gan Xun held her hand. “You’re skilled at kissing. If it’s not too much trouble, how many people have you kissed?”

Raking up the past made Gan Xun tense yet honest. “Just one. Only you.”

Zhao Chiyun gazed at her quietly. “Liar.”