Chapter 83: Romantic, Nihilistic Words

At an altitude of ten thousand meters, the airplane’s fuselage, with its navigation lights flashing, sailed along an invisible route toward an unpredictable horizon.

Those accustomed to the lively crowds overhead no longer looked up.

Standing under a tree on the sidewalk amid the hustle and bustle of the streets, they felt the wind blowing down through the branches, carrying the chill of early autumn.

Gan Xun felt that she might have worked too much overtime and didn’t usually read books like Zhao Chiyun did, so her ability to process words had grown quite weak.

Zhao Chiyun held her hand and explained her feelings word by word, but it took Gan Xun a long time to react after listening. Only then did she feel her heart wrapped in sweetness like honey.

Zhao Chiyun said she didn’t want to leave her, and if she did, she would cry her heart out.

It was as if Zhao Chiyun had seen through her malice, knowing she liked to quietly vilify others in her mind.

In Gan Xun’s imagination, if Zhao Chiyun suddenly returned to Mirror Country one day, she would be overjoyed and leave without a second thought.

So she had deliberately explained it to her.

Gan Xun felt ashamed; indeed, she had always assumed as much.

To the point that, in her understanding, Zhao Chiyun rarely shed tears and would only break down sobbing on nights when she missed home but couldn’t return.

She had never dared hope that Zhao Chiyun might also have thoughts of not wanting to leave, or that she would be unable to eat or sleep peacefully after going back because of her.

Her dark, pessimistic assumptions clashed with the unreserved affection, more dangerous than a rear-end collision on the road—it could drag both people and emotions into ruins.

Love—surely love existed.

Gan Xun belatedly realized she had thought of that word and began mulling it over repeatedly.

Because she wasn’t very familiar with love, she couldn’t easily comprehend it. Sometimes, even thinking that she loved Zhao Chiyun made her shy to herself.

She thought that romantic and nihilistic words, like Zhao Chiyun’s noble bloodline, didn’t appear in ordinary people. Even though she had learned it intuitively, she didn’t dare claim to possess it.

Fortunately, Zhao Chiyun’s explanation ended with a question. No matter how clumsy or slow she was, the answer was always simple.

She said sincerely, full of gratitude, “I’m so happy.”

Happy that Zhao Chiyun was willing to make changes for her, even the smallest ones.

It turned out it wasn’t just her illusion. Zhao Chiyun had decided to break through her own boundaries and get a hairstyle that would be considered unconventional in Mirror Country, all to give her peace of mind.

Gan Xun had only just realized that her sense of deserving in relationships wasn’t strong; she always felt a twinge of guilt even amid satisfaction.

She felt a bit apologetic. “I can feel how much you care about me. If I’d known it was for me, I would’ve stopped you, because you didn’t need to change your hairstyle.”

As long as she heard those words, she had no regrets. For a relationship to reach this point, even if it couldn’t last forever, was something to sing and weep about.

She reflected on whether she had seemed too pitiful before, prompting Zhao Chiyun to do these things to cheer her up.

Zhao Chiyun frowned and looked at Gan Xun in surprise, as if gazing at a naive fool.

“It was just a casual remark. No need to get too moved—it wasn’t entirely for you. Didn’t I tell you? I’d wanted a new hairstyle for a long time.”

“…”

The tender moment vanished in an instant. Gan Xun cleared her throat and swallowed the inexplicable lump and speechlessness. “It’s not like that. I was just saying. It wasn’t all for you. Haven’t you noticed your head-turning rate is even higher now?”

“I’m petty. I don’t like other people looking at you.”

During their conversation, every passerby—not in an age group with poor eyesight—turned their head for a glance.

In the hazy night, Zhao Chiyun’s newly dyed hair wasn’t overly flashy, but under the streetlights, it cascaded like a painting.

The female stylist had great technique and listened well; the curls were perfectly shaped, bending right into people’s hearts.

Zhao Chiyun naturally noticed but was too lazy to comment. “Let them look. You can’t control eyes—that’s the biggest laxity here.”

Gan Xun handled calling the cab and glanced at the nearby shop name behind them—it was a small travel agency.

“You guys over there can’t look around randomly, right?”

“Yes. If you look at what you shouldn’t, the light punishment is having your eyeballs gouged out on the spot; the heavy one is losing your head.”

Zhao Chiyun said it so seriously that it carried an inexplicable bloody undertone. The passing car lights illuminated Gan Xun’s face, turning it pale.

“That’s so serious.”

Zhao Chiyun nodded, holding back a smile with effort but failing. “I was teasing you. What are you afraid of? Great Mirror isn’t some barbaric land—how could it be that harsh?”

Her clear, lively laughter echoed in Gan Xun’s ears, while the gentle night breeze brushed before her eyes.

Her hair strands seemed to blow into Gan Xun’s heart, making it itch.

Gan Xun didn’t blame her for the scare. She looked back and said to Zhao Chiyun, “When the weather cools a bit more, we can go traveling too.”

By then, they should have some savings.

“By airplane,” she tempted.

Zhao Chiyun’s eyes lit up as expected, and she linked arms with her. “Gan Xun, you’re the best to me.”

While Zhao Chiyun was getting her hair done in the shop, Gan Xun had snapped a few photos and sent them to the group chat.

Cui Can sent a long voice message, praising how pretty it was and saying Book Garden might end up packed with visitors soon.

After getting in the cab, Gan Xun sent a voice reply retorting, “Can you attract fewer looks-obsessed fans? Isn’t that supposed to be a sanctuary for art students? They should look at the substance a bit.”

After sending it, she said seriously to Zhao Chiyun, “Everyone should learn from me and focus on the inner qualities.”

Zhao Chiyun was so beautiful, yet she hadn’t turned into a simp on the spot or done anything improper. Anyone who managed to date such a gorgeous girlfriend would admire her.

They were in a relationship, right?

Probably.

Gan Xun thought blissfully.

Zhao Chiyun neither confirmed nor denied it, thinking to herself, you’d better be.

But the moment they got home, Zhao Chiyun realized it wasn’t true at all.

Gan Xun was great at putting on a facade outside. She had thought this new hairstyle didn’t quite match what she wanted—appreciating it was one thing, but she mostly disapproved and worried.

Who knew Gan Xun nearly pushed her to lose control on the sofa, overwhelming her with passion until she uncontrollably shed two lines of clear tears, finally rousing the mercy of someone who claimed to value “inner qualities.”

Before taking Zhao Chiyun to her aunt’s for dinner, Gan Xun compared various options and decided to rent a car to drive there.

It would be lighter and quieter along the way, giving them some alone time.

Zhao Chiyun was skeptical. “You really know how to drive?”

“Is driving that hard?”

Gan Xun immediately pulled out her driver’s license from her bag and showed it to her. “I just don’t own a car; that doesn’t mean I can’t drive.”

Zhao Chiyun took the card, first looked at the photo—which resembled her current self, as if freshly taken—then checked the date: three years ago.

Imitating her, she interrogated, “Who taught you to drive?”

Gan Xun recalled, “A guy, what was his name… forgot. Surname Yang, I think.”

“A guy? Who!” Zhao Chiyun stood up.

Only three years, and she couldn’t even remember the name—such a heartless woman.

Gan Xun looked up from her seat. “The driving instructor. Uh, pretty much like a riding coach at a stable.”

She seemed to recall students or colleagues chatting about driving schools and instructors, but only half-understood. Zhao Chiyun didn’t pursue it further and eyed her suspiciously for a moment.

Gan Xun pulled her back down to sit. “It’s not like that. We pay upfront and learn—fair, aboveboard, in broad daylight under everyone’s eyes. No funny business.”

Zhao Chiyun found it noisy. “Stop the idiom contest.”

Gan Xun booked online, got insurance, and early the next day took Zhao Chiyun to pick up the car. After familiarizing herself, she inputted the destination into the GPS and drove off.

It was Zhao Chiyun’s first time in someone else’s passenger seat. Glancing at Gan Xun driving steadily in sunglasses, she felt a surge of admiration and didn’t hold back. “Gan Xun, why are you so good at everything?”

Gan Xun’s mouth curved up at the praise, and she chuckled. “Tell me more.”

“At first, I thought you had only average looks, but then I found out your cooking is superb, your knowledge impressive. When I mentioned your education to my students, they all said it was amazing—they figured you did well in school.” Just a bit dimmer now.

“Diligent at work, can ride a bike and drive a car.” Just a bit poor.

“As for driving, I know a little.”

Gan Xun’s tail shot up to the sky, and she couldn’t hold back her words. “Were you comfortable last night?”

The car went dead silent except for the playing music. Zhao Chiyun hadn’t anticipated the topic’s turn in broad daylight and never expected Gan Xun to ask something like that.

Her ear tips reddened familiarly as she scolded, “Don’t get fresh.” She cranked up the volume, not wanting to hear Gan Xun anymore.

Gan Xun’s face under the sunglasses nearly split into a grin.

After a moment, Zhao Chiyun turned the volume down and said, “Did you tell your aunt you’re bringing me?”

“Of course. I said a friend was visiting for the holiday, so I brought her along.”

Gan Xun’s household registration was in a county-level city under Mirror City. Zhao Chiyun had imagined it as a small town and pictured rural scenery for the trip.

Two hours later, she discovered it was quite prosperous—not some backwater. Though the buildings were fewer and shorter, without many skyscrapers or wide roads.

Holiday streets were jammed; small-city road planning was irregular, with non-motorized vehicles darting everywhere.

At a red light, Gan Xun watched a three-wheeler squeeze over and muttered a prayer, “I hope he doesn’t scrape my car.”

Zhao Chiyun heard and promptly lowered the window.

She said to the three-wheeler driver right next to them, “Fellow townsman, mind keeping some distance? Yeah, just angle your front a bit. Be careful when starting up—don’t bump into us.”

Gan Xun’s heart raced, fearing they’d run into a rude person who might yell at Zhao Chiyun, making her upset.

Unexpectedly, he actually listened and politely assured them he’d be careful.

Zhao Chiyun thanked him courteously, closed the window, and saw Gan Xun had removed her sunglasses.

Puzzled, “Why are you staring at me like that? Did I say something wrong?”

Gan Xun smiled and asked, “Who taught you to call him that?”

Zhao Chiyun was baffled. “Didn’t you say people from the same place are fellow townsmen? This County Princess’s ID card lists this place—nothing wrong with calling it that, right?”

“Right, right. Then I’m your fellow townsman too—call me one.”

Zhao Chiyun calling people that way was unusually down-to-earth, a huge contrast to her image and aura. Gan Xun found it adorable and wanted to hear it again.

But Zhao Chiyun refused. “You can’t be my fellow townsman.”

Gan Xun started driving and coaxed, “Then what am I?”

“Wife?”

Thanks to her dullness with modern terms, Zhao Chiyun barreled ahead like the three-wheeler driver, even humbly asking, “Is that how you say it? I heard Cui Can likes calling people that.”

There were also baby, darling, sweetie—too cloying; she could never pick them up.

Gan Xun had only meant to tease, but after hearing that, she nearly choked and drove into someone’s shop.

The progress bar had filled too fast, beyond her mental expectations.