Chapter 49: One’s True Face

Gan Xun’s scant courage stemmed from her churning emotions.

She had been constantly disrupted by Zhao Chiyun.

Even in the segment where they tore open their ID cards together, Zhao Chiyun delivered an improvised, elevated speech without any rehearsal.

Her long-winded voice wasn’t particularly loud, but it was highly focused.

Every syllable fell precisely into place, firmly capturing the listener’s attention.

Of course, Gan Xun liked listening to her speak not because her pronunciation was pleasant.

Gan Xun simply felt ashamed—most of the time, people from ancient times expressed emotions better than she did.

They excelled at pouring oil on the flames in the heat of midsummer.

Gan Xun was ignited. She confessed coyly, “You’ve put so much heart into what you said. I’m afraid I won’t be able to help liking you.”

Then she asked, “Why do you want to take away the complete me from your memories?”

She worried that Zhao Chiyun might not have thought it through properly.

Zhao Chiyun answered her second question lightly, “Because I can’t take the real you away.”

This response took an unexpected path, and Gan Xun was impressed.

But it also made her heart ache.

Gan Xun disliked talking about parting.

If Zhao Chiyun left, what remained wouldn’t just be an ID card, and what she took away wouldn’t just be a segment of memory.

She said it so breezily, but it was deeply unfair to the one who would ultimately be left behind.

Gan Xun preferred chasing the future.

Life held no shortage of unhappy moments, but fortunately, joy was everywhere too. She wasn’t one to wallow in melancholy.

When good and bad collided, she simply thought: let the past be the past, and the future would be better.

Zhao Chiyun was like a program that didn’t connect past to future.

She didn’t participate in Gan Xun’s past and might not participate in most of Gan Xun’s future.

When Gan Xun was with her, she rarely wished for time to pass quickly to see what tomorrow would bring.

What she wanted was for time to freeze.

Freeze on the rainy night of their first meeting—even if her wound was still bleeding, it didn’t matter.

Freeze on the moment of their first kiss, when Zhao Chiyun’s wariness was low and she held nothing back from her.

Freeze on that second when Zhao Chiyun took her ID photo.

Freeze on this very moment.

The lights wove an intimate net, trapping people within, so Zhao Chiyun’s gaze appeared affectionate—even her half-hidden jokes carried gentleness.

But because it was half-hidden, Gan Xun didn’t dare confirm if that was what she meant.

Zhao Chiyun waved her hand in front of her, and Gan Xun suddenly realized she had been lost in thought.

She snapped back, looking at Zhao Chiyun with some apology.

Zhao Chiyun chuckled—not in criticism—and pointed out, “Gan Xun, when I first arrived here, I thought you were quite sharp-tongued and clever, even if disrespectful. You seemed like a smart person overall.”

“Why do you keep spacing out these days? You look all wilted.”

Afterglow of emotion.

Gan Xun gave a sour answer in her heart.

She had too many worries on her mind, so she appeared distracted.

This symptom wasn’t good, of course, so Gan Xun decided to start work soon. Once she was busy, she wouldn’t overthink all day.

“My period just ended, so it’s normal to look tired.”

Gan Xun made an excuse.

Zhao Chiyun didn’t speak.

Gan Xun pretended to be busy, picked up the ID card Zhao Chiyun had placed on the table, and examined both sides carefully, memorizing Zhao Chiyun’s ID number.

Zhao Chiyun spoke up, “You just said you’re afraid you won’t be able to help liking me?”

The moment she opened her mouth, Gan Xun felt a spasm in her stomach—not unpleasant, but carrying a strange burning sensation.

She let out a soft “mm.”

Zhao Chiyun drew the card back from her hands, pressed her palms together over it, preventing Gan Xun from looking further at her information.

She looked down at the back of her hand, confirming Gan Xun’s meaning, “So that means you don’t like me right now.”

Gan Xun panicked.

“Is that what I meant?” she asked weakly.

Zhao Chiyun’s expression remained calm. She looked up, leaned in closer, and asked with some doubt, “Could it be that I haven’t learned to understand the words here yet?”

Gan Xun shook her head.

She stammered, “What I meant was, I really like hearing those words of yours.”

Everyone wanted to be cared for, to have their past understood—even if it was a mess, someone willing to sift through the wreckage for the real her.

“And?”

“And…”

Gan Xun did a lot of mental preparation. Only when Zhao Chiyun was almost up in her face did she say the most important part, “I like you a lot too.”

She wasn’t afraid of liking Zhao Chiyun—she was afraid of liking her even more.

She wasn’t all that innocent, but laying herself bare like this still embarrassed her, and her cheeks slowly heated up.

She both worried and anticipated Zhao Chiyun asking what kind of like it was—was it the romantic kind?

But Zhao Chiyun didn’t ask. Instead, she smiled shyly along with her, as if she had also exhausted her strength.

Only then did Gan Xun realize that Zhao Chiyun’s earlier probing had been a pretense at composure.

Like a peony in the golden hall, growing in a restrained and solemn atmosphere—she didn’t have much experience with matters of love.

In that instant, Gan Xun began to envy the women Zhao Chiyun had once liked.

Whatever favored consort or such from the Prime Minister’s Mansion—Gan Xun didn’t care about their status. She only cared that the passionate yet restrained Zhao Chiyun had once confessed to them.

Perhaps with even sweeter words.

In that moment, Gan Xun grew suspicious. If Zhao Chiyun wanted to go back, was she one of the reasons?

Of course, such thoughts were meaningless.

Gan Xun knew they no longer mattered. Even if she only got this instant from her, she was content.

Half to soothe and half to escape, Gan Xun hugged her. They intertwined, and as she looked at the white wall behind Zhao Chiyun, she saw her own true face clearly on it.

Neither a bodhisattva nor a demon, but an ordinary, bewildered person.

She didn’t ask anymore if Zhao Chiyun liked her or how much. She thought she knew.

Gan Xun took Zhao Chiyun to get a phone card and registered a WeChat account for her, becoming her first friend.

Then she pulled her into the small group with only Cui Can and Lan Xiaoxi.

She introduced: [Teacher Zhao has personally joined the group. No more need to go through this assistant from now on.]

Cui Can: [What an honor to our humble abode!!!]

Lan Xiaoxi sent a “welcome” emoji.

Gan Xun saw Zhao Chiyun slowly and meticulously tap on the emoji before sending a “grin.”

Zhao Chiyun’s profile picture was one they picked together. Gan Xun had said to use whatever picture she liked.

Zhao Chiyun found that photo of the airplane’s trail over the clouds and mountains.

For her online name, since Gan Xun used “XUN,” Zhao Chiyun entered “YUN.”

At first glance, they even matched a bit.

Unfortunately, Cui Can didn’t think to tease them at all. Gan Xun thought her comprehension was lacking.

That evening, after listening to the family next door argue loudly over whether to send red envelopes for the elders’ birthdays, Gan Xun received a message from her former company leader.

That leader was the one Zhao Chiyun had met when Gan Xun quit.

She said she had jumped ship. If Gan Xun hadn’t started a new job yet, they could have dinner and consider Gan Xun joining her.

This leader was a good work partner. She had subtly asked before Gan Xun quit, but nothing came of it afterward—Gan Xun thought she had misread it.

She didn’t let the opportunity slip and agreed readily, settling on the time and place for dinner.

When Gan Xun finished chatting, Zhao Chiyun walked up to her and tapped her desk.

Gan Xun shifted her eyes from the laptop screen to her face and took off her earphones.

She saw that Zhao Chiyun’s expression differed from her usual composure—it carried some awkwardness and hesitation, so she guessed something had happened.

Under Gan Xun’s patient gaze, Zhao Chiyun told her, “My period has come.”

Gan Xun laughed, “Finally.”

The hateful thing about periods was exactly this. If Zhao Chiyun had been any later, Gan Xun might have dragged her to the hospital.

“Is it heavy? Come, let me teach you how to use it.”

Zhao Chiyun felt her question crossed a line a bit and didn’t respond.

Gan Xun explained how to use pads and sanitary napkins, and the timing, along with why she asked about the flow.

Then she pointed to the box in the cabinet and said, “But in summer, I’m used to tampons. I recommend you try them too—they’re super convenient. Once you use them, you can’t go back.”

She took one out.

Zhao Chiyun easily understood sanitary napkins. Though embarrassed by Gan Xun teaching her these things, she still learned them.

She puzzledly took the tampon and held it in her hand, “How do you use it?”

Gan Xun pulled out the instructions from the box that she hadn’t thrown away and pointed seriously, “See, you just insert it.”

Zhao Chiyun asked innocently, “Insert it where?”

Gan Xun fell silent, suddenly feeling the need to give her a basic sex ed lesson.

Fortunately, Zhao Chiyun wasn’t as clueless as she thought. The County Princess had read plenty of idle books, so after Gan Xun’s simple explanation, she immediately showed displeasure.

“You!”

Zhao Chiyun threw the tampon back at her.

She swallowed words like shameless, vulgar, brazen, and just said indignantly, “You’re teasing me.”

Gan Xun had shared sincerely but now felt a bit awkward too. Still, she explained earnestly, “I’m serious. Don’t believe me? Search it online.”

Zhao Chiyun couldn’t accept it and looked incredulous, “You use this during your period?”

“Yeah, I use a combination, but mainly this for heavy days.”

Gan Xun chattered on, “What’s with that look? Don’t overthink it—nothing to be embarrassed about.”

“If you’re worried it’ll feel uncomfortable, I promise it won’t—as long as you get the angle and position right, it goes in smoothly with no sensation, and no worries about leaks.”

Zhao Chiyun’s face grew redder the more she heard. She pushed her toward the door, “Enough, shut up. I don’t want to use it.”

The tampon spokesperson’s pitch failed.

Gan Xun found it too cute and laughed outside for a good while. Until Zhao Chiyun opened the door and landed a tiger punch on her.

After lying down, Gan Xun also asked if she felt any discomfort.

Zhao Chiyun didn’t even look up. She slowly turned a page in her book, “Yes.”

Gan Xun said, “I have painkillers. If you’re really uncomfortable, don’t tough it out—the medicine works well.”

Zhao Chiyun looked at her then, with a hint of exasperation. She reached out and placed Gan Xun’s hand on her lower abdomen.

“Do you know it’s rude not to reciprocate?”

Gan Xun laughed and gently rubbed for her for a while, her eyes sneaking peeks at the engrossed reader.

Zhao Chiyun kept her eyes fixed on the book, acting superior and holding a grudge as she instructed, “A bit lower.”

Afraid of missing any chance to get even and coming out behind.

The exploiter was shrewd, but Gan Xun, as a modern commoner, wasn’t one to be trifled with either.

After Zhao Chiyun spoke, a mischievous idea popped into Gan Xun’s head.

She slid her hand down from the lower abdomen to the very end.

Special time—heaven and earth as witnesses—Gan Xun wouldn’t feel anything.

Before she could move, Zhao Chiyun sensed something wrong. She panicked, closed her book with a snap, and shifted her body aside.

Her face flushed, she looked at her incredulously, “How bold of you!”

“Daring to take liberties with me.”

She flung away the offending commoner’s hand and pulled the blanket tight over her lower body.

Gan Xun said, “You told me to go lower.”

“Twisting words.”

Zhao Chiyun huffed coldly in shame and anger, “I misjudged you.”

Doing something naughty made one unusually excited. Gan Xun grew inexplicably bold, “You didn’t misjudge.”

“I like you.”

“Liking someone makes you want to do naughty things.”

She had learned to confess and be lenient.