Chapter 40

Wen Xin took out her key and opened the door in front of her.

Shi Qianyu had already been gone for a while. Wen Xin had turned back from the garage but hadn’t hurried home. Instead, she’d wandered around the neighborhood on her own for two loops.

The high-end complex boasted excellent landscaping, a variety of amenities, and beautiful scenery. It was the perfect spot for a leisurely post-dinner stroll to kill some time.

But that wasn’t the main reason for her delay. The truth was Wen Xin’s mindset—she felt awkward being alone in Shi Qianyu’s apartment. After all, she was just a guest, and a home was the most private of spaces. She and Shi Qianyu were only lovers; lingering like this felt like overstepping.

Still, Shi Qianyu hadn’t returned after what felt like ages. Wen Xin had grown tired from pacing downstairs, and with thirst and heat setting in, staying out longer hardly seemed wise. After some thought, she finally headed up.

As she pushed open the door, a fresh fragrance wafted over her once more.

It smelled wonderful, just like the scent on Shi Qianyu’s skin.

Wen Xin sat down on the sofa and paused for a moment before turning the TV back on. Without Shi Qianyu’s permission, she didn’t touch any of the other items in the apartment.

She pulled up the movie she’d been watching earlier. Back then, she’d been multitasking, her full attention on the kitchen, barely registering the film. With time on her hands now, why not start over from the beginning?

She rewound to the start, settled into a comfortable position on the sofa, and watched quietly.

The film’s genre was pretty niche, and it felt a bit dated. The early plot dragged on boringly; Wen Xin tried to focus, but she just couldn’t get into it.

Things picked up only in the later acts with a sudden twist revealing the female lead’s hidden identity, injecting some real excitement into the story.

But Wen Xin didn’t keep watching. Her attention drifted again—Shi Qianyu had just messaged her, explaining that things were getting complicated and she might be late coming home.

Wen Xin replied promptly: 【Okay.】

Still concerned, she followed up: 【A-Yu, do you need me to come help?】

She might not be able to do much, but at least she could lend a hand.

Shi Qianyu turned her down: 【No need.】

【It’s a rare day off—relax and enjoy. There’s fruit and ice cream in the fridge, snacks in the kitchen cabinet. Help yourself to anything you like.】

【Oh, right—there’s a game console in the drawer in my room. Someone gave it to me; it’s still unopened. If you have time, could you check it out for me? ^_^】

Worried she’d be bored, Shi Qianyu had thought of food, drinks, and entertainment for her—yet she framed it as a favor.

Wen Xin saw right through the kindness and didn’t refuse: 【Got it.】

Shi Qianyu sent an emoji: 【Alright, off to handle things.】

Wen Xin didn’t want to bother her further. She fired off a casual “Mm-hm” emoji and tucked her phone away.

When she glanced up again, the movie’s plot had raced ahead, leaving her lost.

“……”

She rewatched from the twist twice but still couldn’t catch up.

Whatever.

Wen Xin switched off the TV, pulled out her phone, and logged into her game to knock out the daily tasks.

A few guildmates spotted her online and bombarded her with excited invites. They wanted to team up with the vice guild leader for the new dungeon that had just opened today—usually Wen Xin’s favorite activity. But today, she just couldn’t drum up any enthusiasm.

Worried she’d drag down the team’s performance, and with Shui Yue logging on right then, Wen Xin bowed out after two runs and let Shui Yue take her spot.

For some reason, everything felt dull right now.

Was it the endless waiting? Or had she grown so accustomed to Shi Qianyu’s company that even a short absence left her unmotivated?

Surely not. Was she really this dependent on her?

Wen Xin couldn’t make sense of it. Since nothing appealed, she opted to do nothing at all and let her mind go blank.

Even though Shi Qianyu had pointed out where the fruit and snacks were, Wen Xin didn’t help herself. She avoided touching anything in the apartment, wary of stumbling into something private. She simply curled up on the sofa.

They’d stayed up too late the night before, leaving Wen Xin short on sleep. The wait brought not just boredom but exhaustion, and before she knew it, she had dozed off. Her dreams were a jumble of chaotic images.

Most were from her childhood: being ridiculed, bullied. Someone had scrawled words like “disgusting,” “orphan,” and “jinx” on her desk. She’d cried while scrubbing them away, but they wouldn’t come clean—new ones appeared the next day.

She didn’t dare leave her seat during breaks; that’s when they’d toss her bag into trash cans or flower beds. Once, fed up, she’d bitten one of her tormentors and ended up shoved and beaten by a group.

When she got home, Uncle and Auntie would scold her for always stirring up trouble and shaming the family—even if her parents were alive, she’d drive them to an early grave someday.

In the dead of night sometimes, Wen Xin would wonder: was this just who she was?

No. That introversion wasn’t innate; it had built up over time. It grew a little when her parents, busy with business, rarely had time for her; more when she struggled to adapt to constantly switching schools; and in heaps after her parents died, when she lived with Uncle and Auntie—beaten, bullied, mocked by classmates.

Those early years had taught her not to trust anyone, not to let people in. Loneliness stung, but it beat reliving the past.

She hadn’t had these nightmares in ages.

—Not since becoming lovers with Shi Qianyu.

The nightmare dragged on endlessly, but Wen Xin jolted awake with a start. She sat up and peered out the window at the pitch-black night and the distant flicker of neon lights.

Already dark?

She’d slept that long?

Her cheeks felt damp. When she touched them, she realized she’d been crying in her sleep. She ought to head to the bathroom to clean up and avoid looking so pathetic—except she glanced at her phone first on instinct.

Shi Qianyu had messaged about ten minutes ago: she was on her way home.

Whining playfully in WeChat, she added: 【I’m starving, Sister. Have you eaten? Let’s grab dinner together.】

What now?

Wen Xin shot to her feet.

Shi Qianyu had made lunch for her, so fairness demanded Wen Xin handle dinner. But she’d slept right through, missing the message entirely. Shi Qianyu had been busy all afternoon; she couldn’t possibly ask her to cook now.

Panic surging, Wen Xin hurried to the kitchen and rummaged through the fridge before settling on something quick yet satisfying.

Noodles it was.

She filled a pot with water and set it to boil. While it heated, she washed some baby bok choy, plucked out the tender hearts, and shredded them. From the crisper, she grabbed some meat, diced it, and sizzled it up with tomatoes into a sauce.

The water hit a rolling boil, so she dropped in the noodles. Once cooked, she fished them out, blanched the veggie shreds in the same water, and piled everything into bowls with the sauce stirred through.

She’d just finished when the door clicked open behind her.

Perfect timing.

Wen Xin let out a relieved breath and carried the bowls to the living room. Shi Qianyu shrugged off her bag and, without even glancing at the food, started gushing: “Did you cook?”

“Smells amazing—mouthwatering already.”

She never skimped on praise for Wen Xin. Over time, Wen Xin had learned to accept it without flinching.

She even looked forward to it a little. As Shi Qianyu settled at the table, Wen Xin slid a bowl her way with a soft smile. “A-Yu, give it a taste.”

The flurry of activity had pushed the nightmare from her mind, dissolving the lingering sadness the moment she saw Shi Qianyu.

She met Shi Qianyu’s eyes squarely, as if she weren’t the pitiful mess who’d sobbed in her dream moments ago—utterly oblivious to her red-rimmed eyes and the tear tracks still streaking her cheeks, silently betraying everything.

Shi Qianyu didn’t reply at first. After a brief pause, she asked, “Have you been crying?”

The simple question froze the smile on Wen Xin’s face.

Panic flared. She hadn’t expected Shi Qianyu to notice. She hadn’t even checked a mirror yet—who knew how wrecked she looked?

Wen Xin dropped her gaze and mumbled a denial: “No…”

But Shi Qianyu saw right through it: “You’re lying.”

“Why were you crying?” Shi Qianyu’s brow furrowed faintly. She’d complained of hunger over WeChat moments ago, yet now, with food right there, she ignored it and stood.

She stepped in front of Wen Xin, her voice thick with inescapable tenderness. “Something bothering you? Or did something happen?”

“Can you tell me?” Her words came out soft and light.

There was no ridicule, no sarcasm—only concern and gentle probing. Shi Qianyu asked the question with sincere earnestness, wondering if the person before her would tell her.

Yet Wen Xin feared she would spoil the other’s enthusiasm. Besides, true empathy was rare in this world. To her, experiences that had been utterly agonizing amounted to just a few sparse lines when put into words. The speaker might pour her heart into it, but the listener might not truly take it to heart.

It was just a dream, after all.

Wen Xin shook her head, deliberately keeping her response vague. She murmured softly, “It’s nothing. I just had a nightmare—about some things from the past.”

As she had done for more than twenty years now, she chose to endure in silence, concealing her feelings as best she could. After all, no one truly cared.

But Shi Qianyu was different. She met Wen Xin’s sorrow head-on, leaning in to wrap her in a gentle embrace.

Her arms felt so warm.

The sudden hug caught Wen Xin off guard. She froze for a moment, and then her nose began to sting.

Shi Qianyu stroked her head and patted her back, every gesture brimming with comfort. Her lips parted softly as she spoke with genuine tenderness: “It’s all in the past.”

“Everything will get better from here on out.”

The words came like a mantra, repeated several times. Wen Xin listened quietly, those few syllables—”it will get better”—so beautiful, wrapped up in the warmth of her voice and her embrace.

In the end, Wen Xin couldn’t hold back her tears. She had already wept once in the dream, but now the tears fell anew. This time, though, she knew they weren’t for the hardships of the past. They were for the woman right in front of her.

She understood. And she chose to accept it. Those words—”it will get better”—were so profoundly moving that the nightmare itself seemed far less frightening now.

It would be okay, after all.

Everything was behind them. Things would surely get better in the future.