Gan Xun picked up Zhao Chiyun on her back and first went over to turn off the light in the living room.
Darkness fell, the unique dull gloom of a rainy day. The lights from the neighborhood reflected through the balcony window, barely allowing her eyes to make out the outlines around them.
Gan Xun stood in the dark to let her eyes adjust for a moment. Zhao Chiyun lay against her back, resting her head on her and kissing the tip of her ear.
“Can’t see anymore?”
The kissing sound amplified in the darkness. Gan Xun instinctively dodged, her face nearly brushing the wall. She wondered in her heart, where did she pick this up from—a movie?
She said, “If you keep kissing me like this, I won’t have the strength to carry you.”
Zhao Chiyun laughed.
“Why? Should I get down and walk?”
“No need, it’s just a few steps.”
Carrying Zhao Chiyun back to the bedroom, Gan Xun felt the body heat on her back warmer than usual tonight.
Something was off with Zhao Chiyun. She had been especially unusual today.
It started from the moment she woke up that morning.
Last night, when she had softly sobbed in her dreams, Gan Xun grew afraid of dawn, afraid of waking to see a disappointed, sorrowful Zhao Chiyun.
Gan Xun knew how despairing it was to lose one’s home.
After her grandparents—the ones who raised her—passed away one after another, she had felt that way for a long time.
In the morning, she wanted Zhao Chiyun to rest more and didn’t dare face those moments where she had to say, “You’ll be able to go back soon.”
The alarm had barely rung when she quickly reached out to turn it off, grabbed a set of clothes, and quietly prepared to head out.
But Zhao Chiyun woke up. She made her change in the room and insisted on being carried.
So the entire day, Gan Xun felt like she was dreaming.
She stole glances at the selfie Zhao Chiyun sent her all day long and even set it as her chat background.
Watching a movie in the evening was the most normal activity. Their private, clingy back-and-forth wasn’t anything special.
But Gan Xun was so flustered by the teasing that she couldn’t help saying a few extra words, trying to sweet-talk some benefits for herself.
When Zhao Chiyun didn’t want to do it on the sofa, she asked if they could go back to the room.
When Zhao Chiyun hesitated, she waited, thinking it was fine if refused.
She truly didn’t mind. Whether or not it happened, and how much, it was all up to Zhao Chiyun. After all, the happiness in her heart wasn’t built solely on those things.
It wasn’t until Zhao Chiyun said those words that she realized Zhao Chiyun had been thinking that far ahead. No wonder she didn’t want to do it on the sofa.
It was a pleasant surprise, but like milk tea with too much sugar, excess wasn’t always good.
Gan Xun wasn’t a pessimist, but when it came to Zhao Chiyun, no matter how moved she was, she had to think deeper.
The bedroom was small, with windows close by. The sound of rain came in more clearly, bringing a chilling sensory effect. In reality, the room was warmer than the living room.
Gan Xun set her down on the bedroom bed and squatted in front of it, looking up at the distant-seeming Zhao Chiyun.
She seemed to be trying to discern the reason and intent behind those words.
Was it fear? Expectation? Or simply because she liked her and wanted to take the next step?
Zhao Chiyun sat on the edge of the bed, looking down at Gan Xun. Under the glow of the light, her pale irises resembled priceless jewels, captivating the heart.
She restrained her desire—which Zhao Chiyun could read—while carrying a hint of anxiety.
It was as if Zhao Chiyun hadn’t said “Let’s try,” but “I’m leaving.”
Gan Xun asked, “Have you really thought it through? Even if those things aren’t important to you, we don’t have to rush. Are you sure you want to do this today?”
She actually wanted to ask what was going on today, why she was being so good to her.
“Then you haven’t thought it through.”
Zhao Chiyun felt she was being generous, yet Gan Xun wasn’t eager. She couldn’t help but wonder.
After thinking, she asked seriously, “Gan Xun, are you straight?”
Gan Xun froze.
She immediately shook her head in denial. “As bent as can be.”
Zhao Chiyun huffed. “If you’re unwilling, then forget it. I’m not in a hurry. But if you don’t seize the moment while this County Princess is in a good mood, you might not get another chance later.”
Gan Xun laughed.
She grabbed the hand on her leg and rubbed it a few times.
“I’ll seize it. But first, tell me why you’re in a good mood?”
“Why do I need a reason to be in a good mood!”
Zhao Chiyun closed her eyes, then opened them and pulled her hand back. “So nagging.”
Unable to tolerate it, she tensed her toes and lightly kicked Gan Xun’s shoulder.
Gan Xun, half-squatting, swayed with it.
After kicking, Zhao Chiyun lay back on her pillow, picked up the book beside it, and decided to calm down.
Gan Xun stood up and sat on the edge of the bed.
She didn’t have much in this life, but she cherished every bit. Still, despite her all-out efforts, some people and things slipped away.
After falling for Zhao Chiyun, she never dared tell anyone how much she wanted to keep this person by her side, until the end of forever.
She always acted generous, sincerely wishing Zhao Chiyun well even after she left. That was because she could only be generous.
She loved Zhao Chiyun because her own life was barren and empty, with only Zhao Chiyun in it.
She tried hard to express her love because Zhao Chiyun deserved it, deserved her care.
But her love was always hesitant, indecisive—including now. Zhao Chiyun probably thought she was a buzzkill.
Was it that hard? It wasn’t like it required anything more than mutual consent and a bit of half-hearted reluctance.
Gan Xun had never thought that way. It wasn’t prudishness, treating a woman’s chastity or first time like a milestone to preserve without responsibility.
No.
She was using something Zhao Chiyun might care about to explain why she hadn’t been greedy enough—as a way to brush her off.
Not out of selflessness, but extreme selfishness.
She knew the obsession hidden beneath her understanding nature. Once they did everything, once she fully possessed her, she couldn’t accept losing it.
She knew people shouldn’t possess each other; everyone was free.
Even if love made them pause and compromise, the future was unpredictable.
She could accept failed emotions, but she couldn’t imagine her most intimate person suddenly forced to leave one day.
It would hurt her terribly, and Zhao Chiyun too. Maybe not connecting so deeply would be better.
So she restrained all her greed, fearing that if she didn’t hold back, she’d scare the Zhao Chiyun always ready to leave, binding her own self forever preparing for separation.
But now that their relationship had reached this point—reached the moment Zhao Chiyun said she didn’t want regrets—all of Gan Xun’s thoughts were just self-deception.
Even if they didn’t go through with it, even if Gan Xun brainwashed herself repeatedly, could she accept the day Zhao Chiyun left?
It seemed not.
No difference.
So let’s try, while Zhao Chiyun hadn’t left her yet.
Gan Xun sat there, leaning forward and whispering, “Lights on or off?”
Zhao Chiyun glanced at her, calmly turned a page in her book, looked for two seconds, then flipped back.
“What’s up?”
“Do I need to beg you?”
Zhao Chiyun immediately said, “Yes. Time waits for no one. Since you missed it, you have to beg first.”
Gan Xun said, “What if I beg and you still don’t want to?”
“How will you know if I don’t want to unless you beg?”
Zhao Chiyun couldn’t focus on the book anyway; she hadn’t read many lines. She set it aside.
“If you beg and I still don’t want to, that’s on you.”
Gan Xun smiled without a word, lay down, and pulled her into a kiss. Her hand brushed the corner of the book on her back and pushed it aside.
She continued what they hadn’t finished on the sofa. Turns out, even without begging, Zhao Chiyun would reluctantly allow it anyway.
Before undoing Zhao Chiyun’s clothes, Gan Xun first undid a few of her own buttons.
To give Zhao Chiyun a sense of security, showing she was holding nothing back.
Of course, mainly because she thought showing a bit of skin was effective bait for Zhao Chiyun too.
Gan Xun’s kiss was deep and lingering. When only one layer of clothing remained, Zhao Chiyun told her to turn off the light.
Gan Xun didn’t hesitate and went to do it.
When removing the last piece, Zhao Chiyun was probably shy, even in the dark.
Feeling the resistance, Gan Xun didn’t give up like usual. She leaned to her ear and softly coaxed, “Please? Okay?”
Zhao Chiyun seemed to remember her own promise and slowly moved her hand away.
Gan Xun had no objection to the lights off; it considered Zhao Chiyun’s feelings and, to some extent, made her more comfortable too.
She was very nervous, unsure how it would go.
This was the most demanding kiss Zhao Chiyun had ever received. Gan Xun took all her oxygen and still wasn’t satisfied, her hands wandering everywhere, drawing out all sorts of unfamiliar sounds from her.
Gan Xun’s hand ventured there—unlike the poking and stroking on her face during the movie, which had felt nice, a little ticklish, and she only said it hurt to scare Gan Xun.
Now, she didn’t know how to process it. She wanted to dodge but had no room.
Gan Xun kissed fiercely yet carefully, her movements like plucking a complete flower from a branch to pin in her hair.
–
Zhao Chiyun couldn’t suppress her sounds; even she couldn’t stand hearing them and bit her lip.
Holding Gan Xun, she felt a thin layer of sweat on her back, as if she was very hot.
She felt the autumn night was excessively warm too. No cicadas, yet like a new summer.
Gan Xun kept her rational nerves taut, not letting them snap, giving enough time for the night to fill with moonlight.
–
Gan Xun suddenly stumbled forward, like standing at the eye of a hurricane, pushed onward.
Her face went from warm to burning hot, cooling only when pressed against Zhao Chiyun.
–
Until Zhao Chiyun uttered words of retreat.
That brought Gan Xun some clarity. Reluctant to end it, not fully believing the pain could be erased, she paused for now.
…
Zhao Chiyun gasped like someone on the verge of suffocation finally getting fresh air. At the same time, a greater sense of suffocation and helplessness swallowed her, telling her this couldn’t be the end.
Gan Xun, thinking she was cold, gripped her knee at that moment.
…
She didn’t understand Gan Xun’s intent, her ability to think gone.
In the autumn night, they conjured a summer illusion.
Gan Xun’s heart softened, and she leaned in to kiss her soothingly.
Zhao Chiyun opened her eyes but saw nothing—not because of the night. Even in broad daylight, she wouldn’t have seen clearly.
She called Gan Xun’s name, forgetting the night, forgetting her three months here, forgetting how it started and even who she was.
Gan Xun responded to her but also ignored her.
–
Zhao Chiyun was soon pushed to the edge again. Thinking of Gan Xun carrying her through the puddles, her heart filled up.
-She could only cling to Gan Xun and call for a stop.
Gan Xun gently patted her, soothing her. The entire night compressed into a corner just big enough for them, leaving only the two of them. This was what Zhao Chiyun wanted. Unsure if it was too soon, Gan Xun reminded her:
“We haven’t really started yet.”
Zhao Chiyun shook her head at once, then remembered Gan Xun might not see: “No need. No strength left.”
“Then beg me.” Gan Xun found exploiting the oppressor class came too easily.
After a long silence, Zhao Chiyun weighed it and grabbed her wrist, her reluctance clear: “Please.”
