Chapter 62: Embracing a Crescent Moon

She wasn’t that childish anymore, using deliberate neglect to express her emotions.

Gan Xun had truly been busy lately, but she admitted she wasn’t so busy that her feet never touched the ground.

For example, right now, she still had time to chat with Zhao Chiyun for a while.

She always had.

But these past few days, she didn’t know how to face her own emotions.

While queuing at the hospital and undergoing checkup after checkup, she always recalled the matter-of-fact tone in which Zhao Chiyun had refused her.

And it really was matter-of-fact. There was nothing wrong with someone wanting to go home.

In time-travel novels and dramas, no matter how glorious the protagonist’s life was in another time and space, they would seek every way possible to return to their original timeline.

What’s more, Zhao Chiyun had endless glory and love over there, while here she hid away from the world.

Gan Xun didn’t think there was anything wrong with Zhao Chiyun at all. She just couldn’t stand herself—every time, her heart got pricked, and she secretly felt sad for a while, which made her seem ridiculous.

As if she hadn’t known about this from the start, when she clearly had been mentally prepared for a long time.

Their relationship had heated up rapidly lately. As long as that layer of paper was pierced, they could achieve fruition.

The reason it hadn’t been formally pierced wasn’t because anyone was hiding or lacked courage. After mutually expressing themselves so easily, they still knew the most important thing wasn’t achieving fruition.

Their current life was just a transitional segment bridging past and future.

But Gan Xun knew herself. The more she obtained, the harder it became to let go.

Though she had been content with her quiet, cozy solitary life before, after moving into the new home, she realized this was the life she had always dreamed of.

If she lost Zhao Chiyun, it would lose more than half its meaning.

More than half.

Maybe 93.5%.

But it wasn’t like she could avoid losing it just by saying she didn’t want to. She couldn’t even utter a single word about it—that would be too selfish.

Selfish people rarely earned others’ love. She had known this principle since childhood.

Only by appearing gentle, generous, open-minded, and never making others feel troubled, irritated, or guilty could she gain more goodwill and a little love.

This was her way of survival.

It worked on Zhao Chiyun too. Precisely because she never pressured her, Zhao Chiyun was nearly generous when they were together.

She could give as much as she wanted, and it didn’t matter if she had to take it all back when she inevitably left later.

Gan Xun had deliberately given Zhao Chiyun that impression.

But she had overestimated herself.

Therefore, these past few days, she had deliberately made herself busier.

She had just started the job, and things were already chaotic. Her projects didn’t give her time to adapt; she had to dive right in. Often, she still worked for a while after getting off.

She would rather be swallowed by code and symbols than endlessly indulge in boring, lovesick melancholy.

Work and machines gave her a sense of control, a feeling that effort yielded results. She wouldn’t always be stuck in passivity and helplessness.

Her late return tonight was because of a work mishap. The department had a meeting after hours, and by the time she got home, it was nearly ten.

Seeing no light seeping from under Zhao Chiyun’s door, she thought Zhao Chiyun had already gone to sleep, so she grabbed some clothes and headed to the shower first.

Even while showering, she reflected on herself.

These past few days, she hadn’t had time to cook proper meals for Zhao Chiyun or watch the movies she wanted to see with her.

Fortunately, tomorrow was the weekend. Though work hadn’t let up, she could stay home and keep Zhao Chiyun company.

She planned to message Zhao Chiyun after returning to her room, asking what she wanted to eat tomorrow and whether to watch the movie on Saturday or Sunday.

But she hadn’t expected to encounter Zhao Chiyun coming to interrogate her after her shower.

Asking if she was angry or had fallen for someone new.

Neither was accurate.

She just didn’t know what to do.

Gan Xun replied, “No, neither.”

Zhao Chiyun declared bluntly, “Then it’s both.”

Gan Xun closed the door and turned up the air conditioner by one degree.

Smiling, she asked, “What’s the name of the teacher from Prince Qi’s Mansion? Didn’t you say he was profoundly knowledgeable? How did he teach you to have such twisted ideas?”

“Zhuang Pei, courtesy name Jialin.”

“You are not allowed to slander my esteemed teacher!”

Zhao Chiyun first answered her question, then scolded the insolent commoner.

“I wouldn’t dare slander the old gentleman.”

“Then that’s insulting this County Princess! Add one more crime!”

Zhao Chiyun slammed the table, sending echoes through the small room constructed with many blue elements.

She had looked at it for a week, but the wall by the bedhead still hung that frameless blue painting, refreshing like a stolen half of a summer night.

The bedsheets were deep sea blue, the pillowcases and comforter ice blue, the slippers a candy-toned powder blue—soft and fresh.

Even the desk connected to the wardrobe was covered with a blue floral tablecloth.

Gan Xun, whose style leaned blue, lay on the blue bed and spoke blue words: “Then sentence me to death.”

Zhao Chiyun’s eyes flickered, holding back a laugh while maintaining her domineering tone: “You haven’t confessed to me yet—what exactly is the matter?”

“It’s nothing. I swear, I’m not angry. If I’ve fallen for someone new, may lightning strike me dead.”

Zhao Chiyun’s expression changed abruptly, her speech quicker than usual. “Don’t say such nonsense!”

Gan Xun had spoken the vicious oath casually without guilt and hadn’t noticed.

Only after being glared at did she realize her words were too heavy and would pressure others. She hurriedly covered her mouth.

“Not nonsense. But you know, I’ve met a County Princess before. Once you’ve seen the vast ocean, it’s hard to be impressed by mere water. It’s impossible for me to look at anyone else now.”

The ancient poem delighted Zhao Chiyun, and she snorted proudly, “Sweet-talking flatterer.”

“What?”

“Flattery and seduction.”

Gan Xun: “…”

“Stop the idiom contest.”

“Tomorrow I’m off. I was already planning to cook for you and take you to a movie. I just hadn’t had a chance to tell you.”

“I didn’t mean to make you unhappy on purpose. Have I made you feel aggrieved these past few days? I’ll pay more attention from now on. No matter how busy, I’ll make time for you.”

Gan Xun promised her.

Hearing this, Zhao Chiyun rose from the chair and sat on the edge of her bed, propping herself up to lean over and look at her.

She knew Gan Xun was lying, or at least not telling the full truth.

She had thought about the reason for her anger too. The most direct one was that a few days ago, Gan Xun had urged her to get a full health checkup, and she hadn’t cooperated.

If it was about that, Zhao Chiyun had no intention of discussing it further and would never yield an inch.

Since Gan Xun had given her a way out, she played along and feigned ignorance, dropping the argument.

She hooked her lips in a smile. “That’s more like it.”

Watching her smile up close, the fog in Gan Xun’s heart vanished in an instant, and her temper dissipated too.

She reached out to touch her soft, clean cheek and the flirtatiously upturned corner of her eye—sweet as embracing a crescent moon.

“I saw no light from your room earlier, so I thought you’d gone to sleep. That’s why I didn’t come find you.”

“I didn’t. I turned off the light and was looking at my phone.”

“How could I sleep peacefully before you returned home?”

The second half of that sentence was incredibly touching. Gan Xun was so happy she wanted to roll around on the bed but held back for fear of startling her.

She couldn’t help saying, “I’ve told you, no playing on your phone with the lights off. It hurts your eyes. If you get nearsighted, you’ll have to wear glasses, and it won’t look good.”

Zhao Chiyun had her own sense of aesthetics: “I think they look rather refined and scholarly when they wear them.”

“Once you’re nearsighted, things get blurry, your eyes lose their sparkle, and you can’t take the glasses off anymore.”

Zhao Chiyun immediately agreed: “I’ll be careful.”

“Good girl.”

Zhao Chiyun smiled obediently, but after the smile, her pride seemed to surge. She suddenly pursed her lips and dodged Gan Xun’s hand stroking her temple hair.

“I’m going back to sleep.” She said at once.

Gan Xun hadn’t enjoyed late-night time with her in a while, and her reluctant gaze fixed on her face. “Are you sleepy already?”

“It’s time.”

“Would you like to—” Gan Xun overcame her instinctive shyness in making requests and kept her tone casual. “Sleep in my room?”

Zhao Chiyun didn’t refuse right away.

Gan Xun knew there was hope and softened her approach: “Ever since we moved here, we haven’t slept together once. Suddenly going cold turkey—I can’t get used to it.”

“You can’t get used to it?”

Zhao Chiyun was skeptical. “I thought you’d sleep more comfortably alone.”

“Did I give you that impression?”

“Don’t project your own feelings onto others.”

As she spoke, Gan Xun pulled her down onto herself and held her in her arms.

“I was even worried that if I wasn’t there, no one would comfort you from nightmares.”

Caught off guard, Zhao Chiyun pressed fully against her. Afraid of hurting Gan Xun and feeling it unbecoming, she scolded her twice.

Between one scolding and the next came Gan Xun’s kiss.

Later, she stopped scolding. She heard Gan Xun ask again if she could stay tonight.

Zhao Chiyun’s heart softened, but her mouth was firm: “No.”

A barely perceptible disappointment flashed quickly across Gan Xun’s face, as if she hadn’t expected such firm resistance, but she still respected her decision.

“Alright, then go back and sleep first. We’ll talk in the morning.”

She kissed near Zhao Chiyun’s lips. “Good night.”

Zhao Chiyun tucked a fallen strand of hair behind her ear, walked to the door, then turned back to tell her, “If you wish to share my bed, you may come to my bedroom. There’s no reason for me to stay over.”

With that, she opened the door and left.

After two door-closing sounds in quick succession, Gan Xun sat on the edge of the bed, Zhao Chiyun’s warmth seemingly lingering on her lips.

Somewhat dazed, she wondered: What was the difference between the two?

Just a few steps away, and there was talk of “no overnight stays”?

She went to the desk and shut down the work she had planned to do. She had no mood for it anymore and only replied to two work messages.

She soon realized the difference between the two.

For someone accustomed to class distinctions, being kept over meant being chosen, while keeping someone was the active favor.

County Princess Zhao wouldn’t do anything to lower her own status.

Gan Xun was pleased that her normally rational, intelligent brain could figure out such an inexplicable matter.

Great! Like ink staining nearby, she had fully adapted to the life of fathoming feudal mindsets.

Thus, she turned off the air conditioner, grabbed her fully charged phone, and walked to Zhao Chiyun’s door.

She knocked twice.

“What is it?”

Gan Xun thought for a moment and said euphemistically, “Come to sleep with you.”

There was no sound from inside. After a few seconds, footsteps approached the door.

The door opened, and cool, fragrant air rushed out. Zhao Chiyun stood there primly: “Don’t be impudent.”

She glanced at her well-behaved roommate but didn’t make it difficult for her. She stepped aside to let her in.

Smelling the full scent of Zhao Chiyun and books in the room, Gan Xun’s sleepiness came on quickly. She nimbly climbed into bed on her own.

Zhao Chiyun followed behind but hesitated to a stop.