Chapter 47: Sugar-Coated Cannonball

She had indeed misclicked, so Gan Xun said it was fine.

But Gan Xun had nothing to explain about the matter. All the facts were right there in the chat log.

Having a suitor show up in life was no different from a hurricane blowing through or a season of grass sprouting.

Sometimes you didn’t like it, sometimes you did.

Zhao Chiyun’s expression showed no sign of displeasure.

She was as calm as a windless lake, without the slightest ripple.

So the atmosphere around them grew stifling.

When Zhao Chiyun got up to pour some water, Gan Xun hurriedly explained, “I only pulled her out of my blacklist this morning. Since you work there, if something comes up and Cui Can isn’t around, she could look out for you. I didn’t mean anything else.”

Zhao Chiyun turned around and waited for her to finish, tilting her head slightly. A faint smile appeared on her face, which had been thoroughly cleansed of makeup.

“Who said you had any other intentions?”

Gan Xun leaned back, her eyes—high-browed with a subtle exotic air—curving slightly. She had no intention of saying more.

Zhao Chiyun had met a few people from foreign lands, but she had never seen such beautiful eye color.

Wanting to look at her a bit longer, she didn’t walk away. Instead, she asked what exactly a blacklist meant.

Zhao Chiyun had a rough idea—it was like telling a messenger not to deliver letters from a certain household anymore, so you wouldn’t hear from them.

But she still wanted to learn this bit of knowledge—from Gan Xun’s mouth.

Gan Xun explained it to her. Once Zhao Chiyun understood, she asked, “Why were you so decisive about it? Just because she likes you?”

“I don’t want her wasting her energy, and I certainly don’t want to waste mine.”

Gan Xun said, “You see how outstanding she is. I’m not worried that rejecting her will leave her alone for life.”

Zhao Chiyun asked, “Did you have someone you liked back then? That…”

“No.”

Gan Xun cut her off. “There wasn’t anyone by then, but Lan Xiaoxi isn’t the type I like. Even if I stayed single forever, I wouldn’t settle for second best.”

It wouldn’t be fair to herself, and even less fair to whoever got saddled with her.

After hearing this, Zhao Chiyun took a couple of steps forward, then turned back around. “Tell me about the personality types you like?”

Gan Xun was utterly speechless.

Not because the question was hard to answer, but because she didn’t know how to answer without sounding clichéd.

Clichéd like some smooth-talking Casanova.

Cliché wasn’t even the worst of it—she wasn’t obsessed with fairy-tale purity. But what then?

She just said, “It’s hard to say what I like. I can’t imagine it until I meet it. I can only clearly say what I don’t like.”

“That makes sense.”

Zhao Chiyun didn’t press. She thought the same.

She went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water, then came back out. Holding the ceramic cup Gan Xun had specially gotten for her, she leaned elegantly against the wall. “The birthday banquet invitation—do you want to go?”

Gan Xun didn’t particularly like attending birthday parties or weddings, playing the role of background extra on someone else’s big day. That required immense affection and patience.

Only people she truly cared about could invite her. Unless she had some other motive.

“I don’t want to, but I plan to. You’re colleagues now. It’ll be good for you to get to know them.”

Zhao Chiyun had attended and hosted plenty of banquets back in the Mirror Country. She took a sip of the warm water. “That’s not hard. Just accept it.”

Gan Xun was just afraid the host’s intentions weren’t on the wine.

Zhao Chiyun didn’t say it.

To be safe, Gan Xun checked the latest ID card requirements.

She noticed that none of the clothes Zhao Chiyun had recently bought were dark-colored, so she pulled a black shirt of her own from the closet. “Wear this for the photo tomorrow.”

Black was the color Zhao Chiyun disliked most. She frowned immediately. “Do I really have to dress like an assassin for it?”

“Absolutely. Better safe than sorry—if it doesn’t pass, they’ll make you wear whatever they have on hand, and you won’t be able to stand it.”

Zhao Chiyun’s tone turned listless. “Fine, when in Rome.”

Gan Xun mimed a gun and held it to her temple.

“Someone mistook me for an assassin when I first arrived.”

Her fingertip hovered about a centimeter from the skin at Zhao Chiyun’s hairline, close enough to brush the strands pulled up high.

Zhao Chiyun let out a soft laugh and tilted her ear slightly, letting herself bump into the “gun barrel.”

After the bump, Gan Xun’s fingertip instinctively curled, then straightened again once she remembered she had no nails and wouldn’t poke her.

The warmth from her fingertip was faintly hot. She was the one who started the childish game, but Zhao Chiyun’s cooperation felt like a shot straight to her heart.

Bang—

No smoke or pain—just flowers, confetti, and sweet creamy cake.

Zhao Chiyun took the shirt from her hand and examined it. “Before opening my eyes, I was fleeing assassins, stumbling along in panic. Even seeing a lake, I could only jump in, with dark arrows and bloody blades at my back.”

“After opening them, everything was strange. Facing strangers, how could I not be suspicious?”

Gan Xun had meant it as a joke, but hearing this made her heart ache. She felt a bit regretful, worried that bringing up the memories would give Zhao Chiyun nightmares again.

She couldn’t help wanting to pat her head for comfort. Her hand brushed the metal hair clip and dropped back down, pretending that hadn’t been her intent.

Just then, Zhao Chiyun suddenly asked her, “Do you think I can go back?”

Gan Xun looked into her beautiful phoenix eyes, which seemed full of affection when serious, and answered, “Of course you can. If you came here, you can go back.”

“Today in the car, chatting and laughing with you and Cui Can, I remembered riding in a carriage long ago, gossiping idly with Big Sister and Sister-in-Law. Big Brother rode alongside on horseback, overheard a bit, and burst out laughing.”

“I was furious, flung open the beaded curtain, and called him an Annoying Ghost. He said he’d tell Mother.”

“They haven’t seen me for over twenty days. I wonder how frantic they’ve become.”

As she spoke, tears welled up in Zhao Chiyun’s eyes. She held them back, refusing to let them fall.

Gan Xun’s heart ached as she pulled her into a hug and patted her back. “You’re upset, aren’t you? You can definitely go back. We’ll wait for the right moment. Don’t doubt it—they must miss you terribly.”

Zhao Chiyun let out a soft sob and hugged her tighter. “If I leave, will you miss me?”

Gan Xun’s patting hand froze midair.

The heart struck earlier by that sugar-coated cannonball developed aftereffects, rotting rapidly as pain finally arrived.

Her breathing grew labored, but her palm still slowly pressed against Zhao Chiyun’s back, greedily absorbing the warmth she craved yet couldn’t truly possess.

She said, word by word, “I’ll miss you. Always and forever.”

If Zhao Chiyun suddenly went back one day, she’d spend a lifetime remembering this person.

Zhao Chiyun said in a comforted tone, “Heaven is kind. No matter where I end up, someone will always think of me.”

“Who let you be the County Princess.”

The County Princess, usually oblivious to sarcasm, was sharp today. She laughed against Gan Xun’s shoulder. “Such nerve. Who allowed you to say one thing and mean another?”

That night, worried that Zhao Chiyun’s vulnerability hadn’t passed and afraid she’d have nightmares, Gan Xun held her close all night long.

Fortunately, they slept well, right up until the alarm rang.

Before heading out, Zhao Chiyun reluctantly changed into the black shirt. Gan Xun’s eyes lit up.

The dark color sharpened her features with a touch of cold allure, making her skin seem even fairer—like an ink orchid.

Gan Xun encouraged her. “It’ll look amazing in the photo.”

Zhao Chiyun asked, “Are you doing my makeup today too?”

Gan Xun explained, “Passport photos can’t have makeup. Some places are strict about it, so to be safe, no makeup. Hair needs to be tied up.”

Zhao Chiyun gave her a look that said, “Then get over here and serve me.”

Gan Xun had her sit down and tied her hair into a ponytail from behind. Then she circled to the front, bent over to adjust it.

“Show your eyebrows, ears, neck. Perfect—just like that. Very proper.”

She beamed at her handiwork. Zhao Chiyun misunderstood and asked, “Staring at me like this—are you thinking of kissing me?”

Gan Xun felt wronged.

But since she’d been misunderstood, she decided to lean into it.

She planted a kiss on Zhao Chiyun’s forehead.

She straightened up, feigning casualness. “There. Done.”

Zhao Chiyun crooked her finger to beckon her. Gan Xun bent down again, meeting her gaze. “What?”

“A little lower.”

Puzzled, Gan Xun obeyed.

Hands on her knees, she looked like she was bowing deeply.

When Gan Xun’s forehead was level with her lips, Zhao Chiyun returned the kiss in kind, with a soft “Muah.”

Gan Xun looked up, her eyes wide with innocent bewilderment.

The materials Gan Hua had arranged through connections had already been submitted. They were directed to a specific location, nearly twenty kilometers from Gan Xun’s home.

Gan Xun took a cab, wincing at the price.

On the way, Zhao Chiyun wore Gan Xun’s foggy blue wired headphones, focused on listening to her lessons.

Gan Xun dozed off for a bit. When she opened her eyes, she saw Zhao Chiyun intently studying the knowledge points on the screen, silently mouthing something.

The ink-black shirt made her look cool and aloof, untouchably high—like a cold moon.

Forty minutes ago, that moonlight had covered her forehead.

Not cold at all—scaldingly hot.

At the destination, Gan Xun found the window, gave her name, and a staff member handled the formalities.

She signed a stack of forms. Zhao Chiyun was asked a few routine questions.

Zhao Chiyun answered politely according to the prepared script.

After the two elders passed away and their registrations were canceled, only Gan Xun remained on the Household Registry.

Zhao Chiyun was now listed on it too, with the same registered address as Gan Xun.

To an outsider, it might look like Gan Hua had added an illegitimate daughter—nameless and without status, just like Gan Xun.

But Gan Xun didn’t see it that way. She knew that in the whole world, Zhao Chiyun was closest to her.

Once everything was done, the simplest step was the ID photo.

Gan Xun went over to tell the staff, “She’s getting hers done.”

The staff member, sitting in front of the screen, glanced at Zhao Chiyun as she stepped up amid the bustle, then stared at the screen. “No makeup. Remove it and come back.”

Gan Xun explained politely, “She isn’t wearing any. It’s bare-faced.”

It was the plain truth, but it sounded like bragging. Gan Xun felt apologetic and helpless.

Dealing with this all day left the staff exhausted. They skeptically turned to look at Zhao Chiyun.

Though the woman said nothing, Zhao Chiyun took offense at the scrutinizing gaze and asked coldly, “Should I wash my face right here for you to see?”

Gan Xun gently tugged her wrist.

The staff took a closer look and backed off. “No need. Go line up.”

Gan Xun accompanied her in line. “Cool off. They’re just following procedure.”

“I wasn’t angry. I was just…”

She looked at Gan Xun and curved her lips into a completely different smile from before. “Impatient.”

Gan Xun felt deeply happy.

When it was Zhao Chiyun’s turn, she followed instructions, sat down, and looked faintly at the lens.

The shutter clicked.

Zhao Chiyun was officially captured in her world.

Gan Xun saw it later on the screen and marveled inwardly. Iconic enough to be a sample photo.

No wonder the staff reacted that way—it looked too much like makeup. The harsh lighting hadn’t faded her features one bit.

They opted for express processing: five working days, mailed home.

Outside, Zhao Chiyun asked solemnly, “Now we’re family, aren’t we?”

Gan Xun nodded. “Yes.”

Zhao Chiyun linked arms with her. “Gan Xun, thank you for taking me in. I have nothing to repay you with.”