Gan Xun’s leisurely steps came to a halt, surprised by her disbelief.
During her moment of self-reflection, she nervously released the hand she had just taken and stuffed it into her pants pocket, wondering what had given Zhao Chiyun the wrong impression.
Night had just fallen.
The air carried the scent of summer—that stuffy, heavy heatwave with a grounded feel. When it blew against the skin, sweat formed quickly.
Zhao Chiyun looked down at her empty hand. She had no pocket to stuff it into.
Her calm expression cracked for a brief moment but ultimately held firm.
“If you don’t want to talk about it, then forget it. I only asked casually. I want to eat blueberries. Let’s go buy some now.”
On the way to the fruit store, Gan Xun explained to her, “I didn’t refuse to talk about it. That really was my first kiss with you. What good would lying to you do me?”
She added, “That night, I was too nervous and didn’t mention it.”
But Zhao Chiyun knew full well how skilled Gan Xun was at kissing. Moreover, that night, only she had lost her composure while Gan Xun was merely shy—her body perfectly calm.
She had even slept soundly afterward.
Zhao Chiyun had mulled it over for two days and concluded that Gan Xun must see kissing as no big deal.
Just like now, she wore pants that barely covered her buttocks out in public, her long legs fully exposed, without a trace of worry.
She didn’t mind when others looked at her.
Even though a few other girls on the road were dressed similarly, Zhao Chiyun found they looked decent enough—no displeasure at all.
Unlike Gan Xun, whose legs were exceptionally long and straight. In her eyes, it came off as improper, far too eye-catching.
But to avoid being called conservative, Zhao Chiyun pretended not to notice and said nothing.
“Was it really your first kiss?”
Zhao Chiyun had picked up a new phrase. She didn’t believe it—not because she doubted Gan Xun’s character, but because it seemed impossible.
Gan Xun thought it over seriously, remembered something, and confessed honestly, “When I was young, I did kiss someone else’s cheek.”
She smiled shyly. “You’ve liked someone before. You know how it is—when you like someone, you can’t help getting close. But I’ve never French kissed anyone. I swear. That good enough?”
She hadn’t kissed anyone until midnight, then gotten up to change her underwear.
Back then, she lacked her current boldness. Most importantly, the other person hadn’t stirred the same feelings or attraction as Zhao Chiyun. She hadn’t thought any deeper.
Unclear. Zhao Chiyun calmed somewhat at those words but fell silent. She wondered if Gan Xun had caught the deeper meaning behind them.
If liking someone led to closeness, then what did closeness signify?
Zhao Chiyun didn’t ask. She didn’t want to pressure Gan Xun further, lest she flee again—move out to sleep elsewhere and make her seem like she was occupying the nest.
From their first kiss onward, she had assumed Gan Xun would seize some moment to say something—that things between them would change.
But nothing happened.
After the kiss, they went on interacting just as before.
Gan Xun treated her well—not fawning, but patient, polite, gentle. Occasionally disrespectful, arguing with her a bit, but that could be forgiven.
She had experienced that treatment from the very first day.
Now, half a month later, they were simply more familiar with each other. Nothing more.
Zhao Chiyun reflected that these straight girls were always like this.
They treated people exceedingly well—accompanying and indulging to the point of misunderstanding—but remained clear-headed deep down. In the end, they simply couldn’t accept women.
She found it a pity.
Gan Xun was beautiful, very much to her taste. But aside from those occasional heated impulses to get close, she harbored no further intentions.
Pity though it was, it brought no sorrow. Meeting was fate.
She might not stay in this place for long. For now, keeping things as they were suited her fine.
In a cheerful mood, Zhao Chiyun linked arms with her. “In that case, you’re far purer than I imagined. I misunderstood you.”
“What did you think I was like?”
Seeing that she believed her, Gan Xun relaxed considerably and joked, “Some love veteran? Battle-hardened, seen countless partners?”
Her words knew no bounds, yet somehow they struck right at the ancient one’s sense of shame.
Zhao Chiyun’s face flushed faintly. She pinched her arm, shot her a glare, and whispered a curse. “Shameless wretch! No sense of decency.”
Gan Xun couldn’t help chuckling. They entered the fruit store. Seeing her still a bit angry, she stopped with the jokes. Besides the blueberries, she bought a watermelon to make amends.
Back home, they cut open the watermelon and each took half.
Zhao Chiyun was still humming grumpily. Gan Xun called her petty. Only after a kick did she apologize properly. “I was just joking. Polluting the County Princess’s ears is a capital crime.”
Zhao Chiyun commanded, displeased. “No more jokes.”
She wanted to hear nothing about Gan Xun’s possible history with others.
“Got it.”
Though Zhao Chiyun still lacked an ID card, time waited for no one. Cui Can had already sent over the calligraphy class schedule.
Cui Can had only slotted a few classes per week for Zhao Chiyun—not from neglect, but fear of tiring her out.
The sessions were concentrated over the last three days of the week, sparing her multiple trips.
The pay matched the highest rate for academy teachers. With just a bit of casual teaching, Zhao Chiyun would earn more in a month than Gan Xun’s previous wage.
After roughly calculating the figure, she eyed Gan Xun suspiciously.
Gan Xun immediately launched into earnest praise. “You’re a County Princess! You earning more is only right. With your status and skill, you’re worth countless renowned masters. I’d say they’re underpaying you. Cui Can’s little operation can only afford that much. Even if they added a zero, you’d deserve it.”
It made perfect sense. Zhao Chiyun wholeheartedly agreed.
Earning more than this lowly commoner was only proper. Otherwise, it would undermine her dignity. Better not to do it at all.
Once finished, Gan Xun guaranteed, “I’m job hunting. I’ve got ambitions now—my wage will definitely top my last one.”
Lest Zhao Chiyun end up supporting her. That would be too… pleasurable. No—too presumptuous.
That noon, Gan Xun went to meet Gan Hua as planned. The rendezvous was at a Western restaurant in a hard-to-find spot.
She brought Zhao Chiyun inside. Under the usher’s lead, they met Gan Hua.
Gan Xun hadn’t seen him in a long time—perhaps a year or two.
He looked leaner than in his photos, gold-rimmed glasses lending him a scholarly scoundrel vibe. To Gan Xun, he came off as hypocritical and aloof.
Yet he smiled amiably. “Gan Xun, this is your friend.”
“Hello, Uncle.”
Gan Xun made the introduction. “Yeah. Her name is Zhao Chiyun.”
Zhao Chiyun nodded politely and presented the paper bag. “This is the Chiyun Brush and Ink. I humbly copied your new work. I hope Uncle will offer his guidance.”
When confirming the meeting time, she had asked Gan Xun about his hobbies.
Gan Xun had said he liked putting on airs and aping elegance.
Reluctantly, she had recalled his online persona: fond of poetry, wine, tea, flowers, and books—true or not.
Under Gan Xun’s guidance, Zhao Chiyun had searched and confirmed it.
She had also seen his social media: not long ago, he hosted a banquet, claiming to invite only literati. Drunk on poetic inspiration, he composed a mediocre, utterly forgettable dud of a poem.
Zhao Chiyun had copied it down in disdain, using the finest paper at hand.
The gift had cost her nothing, but catering to his tastes was the superior strategy.
Gan Xun listened as Zhao Chiyun set aside her County Princess dignity to speak so deferentially. She admired her even as it tugged at her heart.
In that instant, she sincerely hoped Zhao Chiyun would soon return to the Mirror Country—no need to put up with such petty villains.
Before unfolding the paper, Gan Hua thought the girl looked sharp and quite the flatterer—not a simple sort.
He hadn’t wanted to look. Gan Xun reminded him twice before he reluctantly unfurled it, swallowing his displeasure.
His gaze sharpened at the contents—doubt and surprise mingling as he asked Zhao Chiyun, “You really wrote this?”
“Indeed.”
Gan Xun knew the old man was suspicious and vouched for her. “I photographed her writing it yesterday. Want to see?”
She hadn’t done it to keep a record. Zhao Chiyun’s elegant flourish as she wielded the brush had mesmerized her—she had wanted to capture it, make it hers forever.
She had forgotten to mute the sound. Zhao Chiyun heard and turned back. “Why photograph from behind?”
Gan Xun had said it was beautiful. Zhao Chiyun smiled. “Is the front not beautiful?”
Those plain night hours rippled with crimson from a single sentence, drawing them together. In a hazy blur, they kissed once more.
Gan Hua waved it off, pocketed the paper, and offered rare, generous praise.
Something about how talent ultimately favored the young, a promising future ahead, keep at it—empty words.
Then his expression cooled. “How did you two meet?”
Gan Xun had a better answer ready, but his manner irked her. Rebellious impulse rising, she refused to play along. “She fell from the sky into my home.”
Zhao Chiyun started slightly and glanced at her. Hadn’t she said not to mention it?
Gan Hua maintained his businesslike smile, unperturbed by Gan Xun’s words. He lectured, “Humor’s fine, but knowing your place matters more.”
“I’m judging by Chiyun’s calligraphy. She can’t be a bad sort—I won’t pry into her background. You rarely ask me for anything. I trust your word. This can be arranged.”
“Thanks, Uncle.”
Gan Xun held off on thanks. She read the “but” in his expression.
Sure enough, Gan Hua smiled. “One more thing to tell you. It’s like this—Dad’s found a fine young man. Perfect match for you in every way. You’re prepping for exams. Once you’re admitted, marry and settle down. If not, being a full-time housewife works even better.”
Gan Xun immediately leaned toward Zhao Chiyun and murmured, “Chiyun, mind going to the restroom for a bit? Take a rest.”
“Family matters—I understand.”
Zhao Chiyun’s words stayed impeccably polite as she rose, but her gaze fixed coldly on Gan Hua, carrying a sharpness she herself didn’t notice.
Gan Xun gave her a reassuring smile. Once she was gone, Gan Xun couldn’t contain her anger. “You’ve already decided. Why only tell me now?”
“I’m telling you ahead of time right now.”
Gan Hua checked his watch. “If you hadn’t brought someone along, I’d be meeting him for lunch. His company’s right nearby.”
That self-righteous tone dredged up every grievance from the past twenty-odd years.
She badly wanted to dump the lemon water in front of her over Gan Hua’s head—to see him erupt in fury.
She had done exactly that once. Ever since university, he hadn’t given her a dime.
Gan Xun suddenly got it. There was no free lunch here. Coming to him meant striking a deal by default.
She kept herself from exploding. Remembering the point of today, she pressed further. “You mean, to get my matter handled, I have to do as you say—develop something with him?”
If he nodded, she would walk out right then.
Things hadn’t reached that point. No matter how much she wanted to help Zhao Chiyun, she wouldn’t torture herself.
Gan Hua laughed, as if at some childish child.
“Look at you—what are you thinking? Saying there’s only transactions between father and daughter? That’s harsh. He might not even be willing. I’m just having you share a meal. After that, friends or more—up to you. I won’t interfere.”
“What do I get out of it? It’s for your own good. Any smart person wouldn’t pass this up.”
“You’re a busy man—absent long enough. No need to play the good father now. But one meal? Fine.”
Gan Xun fired back with sarcasm, too lazy for more talk. “The ID card—after the meal?”
Gan Hua’s expression soured. “I’ve already pulled strings. Get your materials ready in the next few days and follow the process.”
He checked the time again. “You two eat. I’ve got things to do.”
As he stood, Gan Xun couldn’t resist asking, “When I meet him, can I tell him I’m your daughter?”
Gan Hua flashed a flicker of displeasure but held it in—public venue. “He knows. Just wait for my arrangements.”
After he left, Zhao Chiyun returned and sat down.
She said flatly, “So your father arranged a husband for you.”
Gan Xun felt a wave of disgust and self-loathing, as if the blood in her veins had no right to exist.
But she still smiled. “Just getting acquainted. One meal—not husband material yet.”
“You want to meet him?”
Zhao Chiyun watched her.
Gan Xun couldn’t tell her it was an exchange condition.
She groped for an excuse—something about not refusing elders’ intentions outright—but feared Zhao Chiyun would see through it. Why was it suddenly so hard to refuse?
So she said breezily, “What’s the harm in meeting?”
Zhao Chiyun pondered. “True. No real issue.”
Gan Xun didn’t know how to respond. She was on the verge of crumbling, staring woodenly at the plate before her, sinking into an unseen dead water.
Zhao Chiyun raised her eyes and leaned close. “But I object.”
