Chapter 63: A World for Two

Over half of the scorching summer had passed, and the cicadas’ cries at night grew fainter by the day.

It might also have been because the new home’s windows were thicker.

In any case, the new place was perfect in every way—except there were only two rooms.

In the seconds before the door swung open to welcome her, Gan Xun’s heart pounded upward, spurred by some unnamed emotion, while a burning sensation flared in her stomach.

It even gave her the illusion of oxygen deprivation, leaving her dizzy as she leaned against the doorframe.

It felt like food poisoning.

Until Zhao Chiyun emerged from the light and shadow.

Tonight was different.

There was only one room, forcing them to sleep together, but that wasn’t the same as each having their own room yet deliberately choosing to share a bed.

So after entering, Gan Xun made a beeline for the bed.

It would prevent her from toppling over due to dizziness, and also stop her from fleeing in embarrassment.

With her back’s bones pressed tight against the wall, she grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest, finally feeling a bit more at ease as the panic in her heart eased somewhat.

After closing the door, Zhao Chiyun leaned against the plain desk.

Her slender, elegant hand rested on a stack of cut paper, quietly sizing up Gan Xun.

Gan Xun grew uneasy but still feigned calm. “What’s wrong? It’s eleven o’clock—are you not sleepy?”

Zhao Chiyun asked again, “Why did you come over?”

“To sleep.”

Gan Xun said this and even yawned, as if it made her seem more natural.

“You told me to come.”

Zhao Chiyun neither confirmed nor denied it, as if she had to think for a moment before remembering. She said nothing.

She walked gracefully to the bedside and sat down elegantly, smoothing her clothes.

Turning sideways, she saw Gan Xun plastered against the wall, half her face buried behind the pillow. Her hair had grown longer since they first met, now spilling over her shoulders, giving her an innocent and harmless look.

It was as if she weren’t the same person who had just been in Zhao Chiyun’s room, holding someone in her arms and kissing them.

“Give me back my pillow.”

The one in Gan Xun’s arms was the one she usually slept on.

Gan Xun refused and even buried her face shallowly to sniff it. “Aren’t they all the same?”

They weren’t—this one smelled like Zhao Chiyun had slept on it.

“Gan Xun!”

Zhao Chiyun called her name in shy annoyance, kicked off her shoes, climbed onto the bed, and lunged to snatch it back.

But Gan Xun clutched the pillow too tightly; Zhao Chiyun only grabbed a corner and couldn’t pull it free. She could only glare fiercely at her.

“Let go,” she commanded.

Having drawn her close instead calmed Gan Xun. Joking, she said, “You look like you don’t want me sleeping with you.”

Zhao Chiyun rejected the misunderstanding. “Did I say that?”

“Since you welcomed me, let’s lie down.”

After saying this, Gan Xun felt like some wicked woman seducing an innocent girl into mischief.

Fortunately, Zhao Chiyun didn’t overreact. She blinked calmly, reached out, and gently caressed Gan Xun’s face.

Her fingertips traced her contours, following the sharp line of her jaw down to her neck.

Her hands were a bit cool, making Gan Xun’s body temperature rise.

Though Zhao Chiyun’s gaze was serene and pure, there was always that unspoken understanding between adults.

Gan Xun felt she wasn’t quite ready yet.

But she wasn’t very resistant either. The caresses sapped her strength bit by bit, her eyelids growing heavy as she awaited the impending kiss.

The next second, Zhao Chiyun yanked the pillow from her arms.

The gentle touch vanished along with it.

Gan Xun opened her eyes. “…”

She should have known—Zhao Chiyun was always one to strategize meticulously and proceed step by step, never acting blindly.

Fine, time for bed.

Gan Xun lay on the outer side, turned off the overhead light, and left only the bedside lamp on.

Zhao Chiyun closed her eyes to rest.

Her stunning yet dignified face resembled a peony closing before a Buddha statue—restrained yet alluring.

Gan Xun wanted to mimic her earlier move, to touch her neck and see if she’d stay so composed.

But she lacked the courage.

Previously, Zhao Chiyun had indulged her, blurring the lines between them time and again—but only when she was in a good mood.

Tonight, Gan Xun could tell, Zhao Chiyun seeking her out for a talk meant she’d reached her limit.

Even after clearing the air, she hadn’t fully opened her heart.

Otherwise, she wouldn’t have closed her eyes like this.

She just didn’t want to argue with Gan Xun anymore.

Zhao Chiyun seemed arrogant and domineering, but her inner considerations were crystal clear.

Gan Xun knew she couldn’t dwell on it anymore; the sourness of biting into a raw lime quickly filled her mouth.

Worried about disturbing her, she whispered, “Should I turn off the light?”

Zhao Chiyun lazily murmured an “Mm.”

Once her sight was taken away, her heart finally settled.

Gan Xun found Zhao Chiyun’s hand resting on her abdomen, gently took hold of it, and rubbed her knuckles. With no rejection, she felt much more at ease.

She closed her eyes, mulling over words suitable for a late-night chat.

Sweet nothings, deep affections, even some teasing—to make up for the past few days together.

She resolved to live well with Zhao Chiyun, no more petty sulks, because every moment was precious to her.

She planned her talking points like she planned the move, and remembered saying a lot according to her outline.

Though Zhao Chiyun barely responded, it didn’t hinder Gan Xun’s one-sided outpouring. Her heartfelt words practically glowed, lighting up the night.

The next morning, when she opened her eyes, she realized those glowing speeches were just a dream.

People didn’t glow, not in the night.

She was skilled at fooling herself. After overtime last night, she was exhausted; after her shower, even more so. She’d decided to turn off the light and sleep immediately.

But subconsciously, she regretted falling asleep like that, so she pretended to ponder what to say.

She pretended all night long.

Zhao Chiyun was no longer in the room. Gan Xun checked her phone—it was already nine-thirty.

Only after starting work did she realize sleeping until nine-thirty was pure bliss.

Gan Xun decided to cook lunch. While selecting ingredients, she received a call and handled it with an unnatural expression.

Finally, she said, “Okay, in a few weeks when I’m not busy, I’ll come over.”

Zhao Chiyun asked her, “Who was it?”

“My aunt. She wants me to come keep her company for a meal when I’m free.”

Gan Xun speculated, “I suspect Gan Hua passed something along again. She wants to play mediator.”

Zhao Chiyun had heard Gan Xun mention her aunt a few times before, but now it seemed Gan Xun wasn’t eager to see her.

Zhao Chiyun asked, “Does she dote on you?”

Gan Xun remained composed as she continued browsing the produce. “It’s not about doting or not—just ordinary family. She probably doesn’t like me much, but she never mistreated me. I haven’t visited in ages; last time was before Spring Festival.”

“It’s not far. Next time, we’ll go together. Didn’t you want to see your hometown?”

Gan Xun smiled with her, remembering she’d said she wanted to see the place where she grew up.

Zhao Chiyun softly reminded her, “Then make arrangements soon.”

Gan Xun looked down, added the last ingredient to her cart, clicked checkout, entered her payment password, and exited the shopping app.

Only then did she look up and smile at Zhao Chiyun. “I know.”

That noon, Gan Xun prepared several dishes Zhao Chiyun loved, plus a homemade cooling beverage. She filled the table.

The house came with a round dining table, which was fairly practical.

Zhao Chiyun stood holding Gan Xun’s new phone, snapping a short food video and sending it to the group chat.

[Zi Han Mama: Such a huge table of dishes and you didn’t call me?]

[Lawyer Tang Sifeng: Such a huge table of dishes and you didn’t call me?]

Zhao Chiyun casually replied: [Yeah, how could we forget to call you for such a huge table of dishes.]

She’d only just remembered—Gan Xun hadn’t mentioned it.

[Zi Han Mama: Heh, Gan Xun, the most hypocritical person in the world. I hate you.]

[Lawyer Tang Sifeng: Heh, Gan Xun, the most hypocritical person in the world. I hate you.]

Zi Han Mama sent a “scram” emoji.

Tang Repeater didn’t chime in again.

Zhao Chiyun then remembered she was using Gan Xun’s account. Seeing Gan Xun approach with a soup ladle, she silently handed the phone back.

Gan Xun saw the record: “…”

[Xun: Pure drudgery’s first weekend day, two-person world. Come over tomorrow to eat.]

[Yun: Sorry, that was me just now (grinning).]

She quoted the earlier message from Gan Xun’s account.

Cui Can and Tang Sifeng soon followed with a string of grinning emojis.

Because they had a movie to catch in the afternoon, they skipped dramas during lunch.

Gan Xun found eating without videos boring when alone, but with Zhao Chiyun, nothing felt dull.

Having eaten too much takeout and restaurant food lately, Zhao Chiyun praised Gan Xun’s cooking effusively, saying she’d already surpassed the Prince’s Mansion Head Chef.

Gan Xun beamed smugly. “Almost better than the imperial chefs, right?”

Zhao Chiyun said seriously, “Imperial chefs make garbage.”

To reward Chef Gan, Zhao Chiyun used the serving chopsticks to pick up a shrimp for her.

Gan Xun peeled it and dutifully placed it on Zhao Chiyun’s plate.

Zhao Chiyun hadn’t expected her to be so oblivious, so she picked it up and personally fed it into her mouth.

Sometimes Gan Xun lacked romance—like last night, when she held hands and promptly fell into a deep sleep.

Zhao Chiyun poked her, but she didn’t stir.

In the afternoon, they headed out together. It was overcast with a strong wind, so the road wasn’t too hot.

Gan Xun savored it. Since starting work, she hadn’t had this much leisure time.

“These past couple days commuting, I’ve kept missing those typhoon days.”

Zhao Chiyun didn’t miss them. “But the power went out.”

“But it gave us an excuse to do absolutely nothing.”

Zhao Chiyun didn’t understand the appeal of doing nothing, but she nodded anyway.

Sunglasses-wearing Gan Xun flashed her a toothy grin.

She remembered—that during the typhoon, she’d realized she was falling for Gan Xun.

At the theater, following Gan Xun’s verbal instructions, she retrieved two tickets from the machine.

After the praise, she modestly said with restraint, “Piece of cake.”

These modern contraptions were nothing special.

Gan Xun bought a combo of popcorn and fries, led her into the auditorium, showed her how to find their seats, and they sat.

When the lights dimmed, Zhao Chiyun instinctively leaned toward her.

“Why turn off the lights? This is perfect for hiding assassins.”

Gan Xun whispered, “See the gold chain on the guy in front?”

Zhao Chiyun peered in the flickering light for a moment. “I see it.”

“Any assassin would target him first. We’re safe.”

Zhao Chiyun then remembered she was no longer a noble County Princess, and Gan Xun was just a poor commoner.

Relieved, she sat up straight.

Soon she scooted close again, nibbling Gan Xun’s ear as she whispered, “Save me—my chair has some mechanism.”

Gan Xun forgot to warn her. “It’s a massager. It’ll settle down soon.”

Zhao Chiyun reluctantly sat back.

It massaged too uncomfortably, so she shifted forward a bit.

Zhao Chiyun disliked how popcorn made her hands dirty but found it tasty, so Gan Xun fed her the whole movie.

The plot was engaging enough, but with two instances of her biting Gan Xun’s fingertip absentmindedly, Zhao Chiyun was distracted.

Gan Xun felt there was a flirty element to it.

In public, no less.

The story had laughs and tears; Gan Xun, ever soft-hearted, was among the first to cry.

Zhao Chiyun, unfazed, handed her a tissue.

She could empathize with the sorrow but wasn’t used to crying out loud, and her upbringing forbade losing composure in public.

Still, being emotional wasn’t bad—Gan Xun crying was adorable.

When the lights came on at the end, Zhao Chiyun caught sight of Gan Xun’s red eyes and nose.

Her heart softened completely, but she couldn’t help side-eyeing a smirk.

Gan Xun inwardly screamed that this was the real wicked woman—damn it.