Chapter 21: Wanting to Keep You Part 2

She had appeared at the charity gala, given her opening remarks, then gone through customs to come here. Saying she hadn’t eaten much was a lie—she hadn’t eaten a single bite.

The wonton shop stayed open until the early hours, and there were still a few dine-in customers at this hour.

Mu Shanyi wore high-end black couture: a strapless top with Angeld hemline paired with tailored trousers. The style was low-key, and without her jewelry, she didn’t stand out too much in the brightly lit shop.

There was no real ambiance here. The wooden tables and chairs gleamed with years of stubborn oil stains. When Mu Shanyi got out of the car, she’d taken a pearl-white silk scarf from the storage compartment—hand-rolled edges, like a segment of cool moonlight. Now, she spread it over the chair.

Everything she did was just right. Miao Zhu wanted to sit across from her, but Mu Shanyi reached back and pulled her hand. “Here.”

“Longlong, your skirt is short. Pad it underneath.” Mu Shanyi leaned close to her ear.

This breath was like warm, fragrant mist, making Miao Zhu’s breathing surge—not just for Mu Shanyi’s thoughtfulness, but for the name “Longlong.” Mu Shanyi only called her that in intimate moments.

Miao Zhu didn’t want to admit it, but she had to: during this week apart, she’d kept unintentionally recalling that night.

The boss brought two steaming bowls of wontons. Miao Zhu’s thoughts drifted—should she proactively invite Mu Shanyi to her room later?

Sheng Xingran’s incoming call snapped Miao Zhu out of her reverie. The phone was on the table, and when the screen lit up, Mu Shanyi saw the star icon.

Out of habit, Miao Zhu picked up the phone to answer. Sheng Xingran called her every night before bed lately to chat a bit.

“Longlong~ Back in your room?” Sheng Xingran’s crisp voice came through the phone.

Miao Zhu: “…Not yet.”

Sheng Xingran could hear the noisy background on Miao Zhu’s end too. “Out somewhere?”

Miao Zhu: “Eating wontons.”

“With the flutist?” Sheng Xingran knew Miao Zhu was closest to Jiang Jingjing in the group. “How’s the taste?”

“She’s not here. It’s decent.” Miao Zhu’s gaze drifted to Mu Shanyi beside her. Mu Shanyi was sipping soup with her head down; it was impossible to tell if she liked the wontons.

“The photographer finished editing the boat trip photos. I sent them in an email, and a few I really like, I sent separately on WeChat.”

“Okay.”

Sheng Xingran: “Oh right, this afternoon I booked flights and reserved a seat for the cellist too. Did you get the flight info?”

“I didn’t check.” Miao Zhu pulled her gaze back. “What date?”

Sheng Xingran: “Next month the 2nd. I can go anytime, but that’s when you get time off.”

Miao Zhu knew Sheng Xingran had to make the touring seminar’s opening. She’d originally planned to go separately from Sheng Xingran. After the orchestra’s finale night, she had some work loose ends, so her schedule was tight.

“Oh, okay.” Miao Zhu still said.

“Head back after eating.” Sheng Xingran circled back to the photos. “Can’t wait to share them with you. Sending them now.”

After hanging up, the photos popped up one after another in Miao Zhu and Sheng Xingran’s chat.

The follow photographer had good composition skills; the tones were comfortable. There were shots of her and Sheng Xingran shoulder-to-shoulder on the hammock listening to music from above, her turning back while fishing to smile and talk to Sheng Xingran, and her alone at sunset, leaning over the boat railing with the wind in her hair…

Miao Zhu scrolled to the last one: a screenshot of the flight info to Southern France.

From answering the call to skimming the photos, the whole process was maybe two minutes. Mu Shanyi ate her wontons slowly and methodically the entire time.

“Want some vinegar?” Miao Zhu locked her phone screen, picked out red vinegar from the table condiments, and opened the porcelain jar of chili sauce. “A lot of people say it tastes better with vinegar and spice. Sister A-Heng, want to try?”

Mu Shanyi: “I prefer mild flavors, the taste of the ingredients themselves.”

Miao Zhu hadn’t expected such a straightforward refusal and paused. “Oh…”

They’d eaten together many times, sometimes across seats, and Mu Shanyi would compliment what was good. But in Miao Zhu’s memory, she’d never explicitly said she disliked something or that a dish wasn’t to her taste.

“I’ll remember that.” Miao Zhu added after thinking.

Mu Shanyi’s lashes fluttered lightly, but she said nothing more.

After leaving the wonton shop, they got back in the car. Mu Shanyi gazed at the receding streetscape outside the window, her expression distant.

She instructed Lu Zheng to drop Miao Zhu off at the hotel first.

The implication was that she had other plans later.

—Miao Zhu concluded that Mu Shanyi was upset.

It couldn’t be about the vinegar and spice, so like that time at Tower Shadow Sunny River, was Mu Shanyi bothered by Sheng Xingran? Did her “sister” identity make her feel morally condemned?

The drive was just three to five minutes. They arrived in a flash. The car stopped under the hotel porte-cochere, but Miao Zhu didn’t get out, and Mu Shanyi didn’t urge her.

Lu Zheng shifted out of gear: “President Mu, I’m going out to buy a bottle of water.”

The space in the car was now theirs.

Miao Zhu was regretting it—she shouldn’t have answered Sheng Xingran’s call. She wanted something from Mu Shanyi, but Mu Shanyi was only seeking fun from her. If it wasn’t fun anymore, what value did their relationship have?

Miao Zhu’s hand delved into her small bag, finding what she wanted and clutching it in her palm. “Sister A-Heng, you came specifically to see me today, right?”

Mu Shanyi glanced at her faintly.

The car roof blocked the porte-cochere lights, leaving the interior dim. Miao Zhu’s soft, seductive voice flowed: “So, how much time can you give me?”

After a few beats of silence, Mu Shanyi spoke: “You want to keep me?”

Her tone was indifferent, as if it didn’t matter either way—bored and uninterested.

A small, flat box was placed on Mu Shanyi’s lap. Miao Zhu looked up at her with an innocent expression saying impure words: “I want to keep you.”

Mu Shanyi looked down. It was a box of finger cots.

—