The word “status” carried particular weight in Zhao Chiyun’s eyes.
She knew she couldn’t offer promises or a future, so agreeing like this was merely perfunctory. But circumstances demanded it—her presence here defied ordinary logic anyway.
If this was what Gan Xun wanted, she certainly wouldn’t refuse.
Without a second thought, she nodded gently, as solemn as accepting a marriage proposal.
The moment she submitted the application, Gan Xun felt very nervous. But when Zhao Chiyun actually agreed, she realized she hadn’t even prepared a gift—her sincerity fell short.
It had been a spur-of-the-moment impulse, with no prior planning, because she’d never schemed it out.
Fortunately, Zhao Chiyun didn’t mind. She was already accustomed to Gan Xun’s poverty and impulsiveness, desensitized to a life without ceremony.
When their kiss grew hard to part from, both their stomachs protested at the same time. They decided to deal with hunger first.
The hotel restaurant required going down to the first floor, then heading outside.
The food was quite good. They ate until they felt a bit stuffed, then took a stroll outside.
Night had fallen, and the pool was ringed with lights. Young girls raced their friends, their forms agile and graceful. Zhao Chiyun watched without blinking.
She tugged at Gan Xun’s clothes and said, “I want to learn.”
Gan Xun recalled something. “You said that if you knew how to swim, you wouldn’t have fallen over, right?”
Zhao Chiyun wasn’t sure. She thought back. “By that logic, I must have drowned to death before…”
“What drowning? Pfft, pfft, pfft—you’re standing right here perfectly fine, aren’t you?”
Gan Xun dropped the topic but supported her signing up for swimming lessons. After all, more skills never hurt.
“But heads up: you can get a female coach, but the pool has both men and women. It won’t cater to just you.”
Zhao Chiyun said, “I’m not planning to swim naked.”
Gan Xun lifted her chin slightly. “You’d have to wear a swimsuit. Can you handle that?”
“What’s not to handle? Let them look—I’m not ugly.”
Gan Xun glanced sideways in surprise. Was this still her Zhao Chiyun? Had the real one gone back already, leaving a fake behind?
Past the pool lay an amusement area. The swings were occupied by a few kids, with parents watching nearby.
They wanted to play but knew they couldn’t compete, so they left quietly.
They finally found an empty bench under a lush tree. They sat close together, slouched back without any proper posture, savoring a moment of quiet amid the bustle.
Nearby streetlights turned the grass into what looked like green juice spilled from the earth. Gan Xun looked up but saw no moon or stars—maybe there were none, or perhaps the treetops blocked them.
She hadn’t enjoyed time so peacefully in many years.
Not even after Zhao Chiyun appeared.
Survival crises, emotional turmoil, constant fears about the future—they prowled her body without cease, pinning her in place. She couldn’t lie down, couldn’t retreat.
This was a rare moment when she feared nothing and felt no anxiety.
She felt fulfilled, abundant, happy—brimming with love, in a dazed and quiet night.
Zhao Chiyun leaned over and let out a very refined yawn on her shoulder. “I’m sleepy.”
The hotel provided full bath amenities, so Zhao Chiyun soaked in the tub.
She’d never taken a proper bath in the modern world—Gan Xun’s place and Cui Can’s home both only had showers.
She took to the bathtub like a fish to water, filling it with hot water and bath bombs herself, turning on some music, and closing her eyes to relax.
Gan Xun’s few experiences with baths had nearly made her pass out, so when Zhao Chiyun didn’t come out on time, she opened the bathroom door.
In the steam, Zhao Chiyun slowly opened her eyes, puzzled. “What’s wrong?”
Her voice, softened by the hot water, echoed lazily through the bathroom.
Gan Xun walked closer. “I was afraid you’d fainted. Came to check on you.”
Zhao Chiyun looked at her for two seconds, her gaze sharpening from distant to near. She smiled lazily. “Liar. If you were worried I’d faint, you could’ve just called out. No need to come in and check personally.”
Gan Xun perched on the edge of the tub, her eyes straining to peer through the thick, fluffy foam.
Zhao Chiyun sat up straighter, her upper body half-exposed in a glimpse of spring light. She rested her arm on the tub’s edge near Gan Xun’s leg.
“You’re up to no good.”
Gan Xun didn’t deny it. “Guilty.”
She reached out and gently cupped it—a slick, slippery sensation fleeing from her palm.
Zhao Chiyun had nowhere to escape and wasn’t pleased at being toyed with. She scooped up a handful of water with one hand and splashed it on Gan Xun. The robe’s shoulder—and half of Gan Xun’s face—got soaked.
Gan Xun froze for a moment, then held nothing back. She plunged her hand straight into the water.
That night, Zhao Chiyun didn’t sleep well.
Gan Xun was in high spirits. After leaving the bathroom, she tossed and turned Zhao Chiyun over several times.
Around three or four in the morning, one got thirsty and the other simply woke up. Somehow, they tumbled into it again.
Gan Xun was greedy, but at least she didn’t cause pain. Zhao Chiyun couldn’t bear to push her away, so she indulged her again and again.
In the morning, seeing her listless, Gan Xun anxiously reached over to feel her forehead.
She seemed worried she’d catch a cold like the first time.
Only after confirming the temperature was normal did she relax.
Zhao Chiyun scolded her for looking guilty.
October after the holiday brought freakish heat—the temperatures rose instead of falling.
Gan Xun naively figured the summer had been whimsically extended by the creator because of Zhao Chiyun’s arrival.
The sun blazed overhead, time frozen still.
If only it could stay frozen forever.
Gan Xun noticed that Zhao Chiyun’s students—who were even older than her—were subtly influencing her at a rapid pace.
Zhao Chiyun’s values and speech lost their ancient flavor. She even picked up tons of memes, trendier than Gan Xun, who sat in a cubicle all day.
When her salary hit the account that month, Gan Xun bought her a new phone.
Zhao Chiyun happily started using it and stopped saying things like she’d leave eventually, so the old one would do.
She even told Gan Xun that her students suggested she capitalize on the interest people had in her and start running her own account.
Gan Xun laughed when she heard it. “People do that to make money. You want to hustle for cash too?”
Zhao Chiyun’s income wasn’t bad now, and Cui Can was generous. Any student who signed up mentioning Zhao Chiyun’s name earned her a commission.
Zhao Chiyun thought it over and declared frankly, “I love money.”
Gan Xun burst out laughing and voiced her support, then pronounced judgment: “You’ve been fully assimilated by money society.”
Zhao Chiyun told her, “All beings are equal. Nothing wrong with that.”
That Saturday, Gan Xun had to be at the company by nine in the morning for a meeting on a new project, discussing plans with the client company.
Zhao Chiyun had a class. Afterward, she messaged Gan Xun that she wanted to pick her up and eat out together.
Gan Xun typed back discreetly: [You can’t ride over to pick me up, right?]
Zhao Chiyun: [If you dare get on, I’ll ride.]
Gan Xun sent a crazy head-shaking emoji.
Only then did Zhao Chiyun say she’d take the subway.
After the exchange, Gan Xun looked out the meeting room window.
Through the blinds, the neighboring building reflected dazzling light.
During breaks in the meeting, colleagues chatted about how summer just wouldn’t end.
Gan Xun stayed quiet and just checked the weather. Rain was coming next week, bringing a sharp drop in temperature. Thin autumn clothes would barely get worn.
People always got the illusion in certain phases that they “couldn’t go on anymore.” But look a bit further ahead, and everything came to an end.
Ten minutes before the meeting wrapped, Zhao Chiyun said she’d arrived.
Fortunately, the lobby on the first floor had public seating areas with sofas and tables. Gan Xun told her to wait a moment—her heart had already flown downstairs.
After the meeting ended, she chatted briefly with colleagues, then rushed into the elevator.
She’d expected to see Zhao Chiyun in her usual still pose—maybe reading, sitting quietly, or playing on her phone. Instead, Zhao Chiyun stood in the middle of the lobby, chatting and laughing with someone.
A man, no less.
Gan Xun admitted it was hot that day. The air conditioning in the meeting room was the only reason she could keep her shirt on.
But a tank dress in October?
She’d spotted that dress while shopping recently. Because it was blue, Gan Xun had lingered on it.
Zhao Chiyun had wanted her to buy it. Gan Xun said the style didn’t suit her and summer was almost over anyway—no need.
Zhao Chiyun asked, “Do you like it?”
Gan Xun nodded, so Zhao Chiyun tried it on and came out asking, “Does the style suit me?”
It suited her perfectly.
Pure, clean blue—not overly revealing, but full of subtle allure.
It showcased Zhao Chiyun’s beautiful shoulders and neck. On her slender back, her shoulder blades peeked out like delicate butterfly wings, mostly hidden by the fabric, only their shape visible.
Gan Xun, who had left early, had no idea she’d worn it.
From Gan Xun’s angle, the side view made her figure turn an everyday dress downright sexy.
Her long, permed hair draped over her shoulder, her smiling profile like a bright moon—but that glow wasn’t shining solely on Gan Xun.
A burly man with a bit of stubble was making her laugh, even deliberately closing the social distance while she did.
They’d just added each other as friends by the time Gan Xun walked up.
Gan Xun’s face was expressionless. “Done chatting?”
Zhao Chiyun finally spotted her. “You’re down.”
A small spark of grievance ignited in Gan Xun’s heart. She said in a low voice, “I messaged you before I came down.”
Plenty of time to add a stranger’s contact, but no time to check my message? How could Zhao Chiyun be like this?
Zhao Chiyun smiled and said softly, “I didn’t have time to look. I thought you’d take longer.”
So she chatted up a random guy instead.
Gan Xun was furious but couldn’t bring herself to snap at Zhao Chiyun. She shot the man an unfriendly look. “You got something else?”
After shooing him off, she dragged Zhao Chiyun outside. “I’m starving. Let’s eat.”
Zhao Chiyun called a halt. “I left my coat and bag upstairs.”
She’d worn a coat over the dress—formal enough for class. But with no AC in the lobby and the heat, she’d taken it off.
Once outside the building, Zhao Chiyun noticed something off about Gan Xun. Realizing belatedly, she asked, “What’s wrong with you?”
“You tell me.”
“Because of me?” It couldn’t be work stress—Gan Xun never brought that home.
“Can’t you tell? My girlfriend’s chatting and laughing with some guy, even adding him as a friend. I’m super pissed.”
Gan Xun couldn’t help it. “How can you just add people like that?”
Zhao Chiyun caught on—explaining the cold face at first sight. She laughed and teased on purpose, “Gan Xun, you some old feudal lord? Can’t even chat with people now?”
Called feudal, Gan Xun didn’t get mad—instead, she laughed. “Yeah, I want to know what was so funny you missed me coming down. Why’d he add you? To chase you?”
Her tone was unusually sharp. Zhao Chiyun soothed her. “He’s the owner of a new gym nearby. Thought I was an office worker, wanted to ask about my situation. Asked if I wanted to work out. I said I only wanted to learn swimming, so I casually asked about their prices and added him.”
“He’s tall and burly. I was afraid if I turned him down flat, he wouldn’t let me leave. That ‘chatting and laughing’? Total polite facade. If you don’t like it, I’ll delete him.”
Her explanation and concession made Gan Xun seem unreasonable. Gan Xun stressed, “That guy’s not just pushing classes. His intentions were obvious!”
Zhao Chiyun pulled up his Moments for her. “Look—it’s all ads. Total work account.”
Gan Xun scrolled through and huffed. Musclehead. Vulgar!
She was about to hand the phone back when a message popped up from the guy: “Beauty, you’re so pretty. No partner, right?”
Gan Xun: “…”
“We should head back and chat more.”
