Before she could say more, Tang Lian jumped in without missing a beat, completely ignoring Nan Qi’s stammered scolding.
Her eyes drooped, feigning hurt. “Saying that about me… it’ll make me sad, you know.”
She covered her eyes with her hand, hiding most of her face, and let out a series of pitiful whimpers, as if she were truly heartbroken.
Nan Qi wasn’t buying it.
She could see Tang Lian’s lips curving into a sneaky smirk through the gaps in her fingers!
Now there was no need to hold back or restrain herself any longer.
Nan Qi slammed the bowl down with satisfaction and added awkwardly, “The noodles you made were really good.”
Without pause, she swiftly grabbed Tang Lian’s bowl. “You’re done eating, right? I’ll go wash these.”
Not waiting for a reply, she hurried off with the bowls, scraped the food scraps into the trash, tossed them into the sink, and turned on the faucet.
The rushing water drowned out everything else, and Nan Qi tuned out the outside world entirely.
Tang Lian watched Nan Qi’s back as she practically fled in panic, nearly bursting into laughter and tumbling off her chair.
She tried calling out Nan Qi’s name.
“Nan Qi—!”
She clearly saw Nan Qi’s figure pause for a second before resuming her bowl-washing as if nothing had happened.
She had heard, but was pretending not to.
Leaving Tang Lian to put on a one-woman show.
Tang Lian had seen through Nan Qi’s cold, tough exterior to the pure, thin-skinned heart beneath. A little teasing and she was ready to flip out.
She had a wonderfully cute side.
Tang Lian felt lucky to witness this part of her.
Ignoring Nan Qi’s refusal to respond only made Tang Lian want to talk to her more. It had been hard enough to coax her over to the house—she couldn’t waste the chance to chat.
Her eyes sparkled with an idea.
She stood up, a bit nervous at first. After some mental preparation, she picked up Nan Qi’s phone, which she’d left on the dining table. This time, she did nothing with it.
She made sure to be loud on purpose as she walked over to Nan Qi’s side and patted her shoulder.
Nan Qi heard her footsteps and cranked the faucet even higher, her bowl-washing posture growing more practiced and professional.
She figured that even if Tang Lian came over and saw her busy with the dishes, she wouldn’t have the nerve to drag her into idle chit-chat.
Unfortunately, she had underestimated Tang Lian’s tactics and persistence.
Instead of just calling out, Tang Lian used direct physical contact combined with casual speech. “Nan Qi? Why are you ignoring me?”
Nan Qi’s body stiffened. She turned her head extremely slowly, her voice squeezing out like it came from a damp, dark cellar. “Is… there… something?”
“I was wondering if you want to keep charging your phone? Didn’t you say you wanted to take a photo of that painting you like?”
Nan Qi blanked for a second, not expecting that to be Tang Lian’s reason.
The flush had long faded from her face, leaving her usual pale complexion.
“Keep it charging,” she replied dazedly, vaguely recalling that when she’d checked her phone earlier, the battery was almost dead—the indicator had been red.
It must not have been plugged in long before Bo Ranying’s call came in.
Tang Lian acknowledged her and went to plug it in, then returned to watch Nan Qi wash the dishes.
Nan Qi deliberately dragged things out to buy time, but there were only two bowls—she couldn’t stall forever.
She scrubbed them slowly, rinsed them slowly, set them in the drainer, then slowly washed the grease from her hands and dried them off.
All the while, Tang Lian leaned nearby, her eyes clearly seeing through the act, yet pretending nothing was amiss as she watched Nan Qi’s masterful performance in procrastination.
She turned off the kitchen lights, and they walked out together.
The sudden darkness behind them made the living room lights seem brighter by comparison.
Nan Qi’s heart skipped a beat; the atmosphere felt a little off.
She wanted to say something—naturally shifting the topic.
Her gaze suddenly caught the dim crimson glow in one corner of the living room. The incense hadn’t burned out yet; faint wisps of smoke still lingered in the air. There sat the shrine to Wang Lingguan.
Her curiosity about Tang Lian reignited, and she didn’t need to search for a new topic.
“Why do you have a shrine to Wang Lingguan at home?” she asked offhandedly. “You don’t seem like the type who believes in gods.”
“Huh,” Tang Lian touched her nose, looking at her playfully. “Why do you think I’m an atheist?”
They naturally drifted over to the small altar table.
The statue was imposing and majestic, leaving no doubt that he possessed the power to dispel all ghosts and demons from the world.
Nan Qi thought for a moment before saying earnestly, “Because you don’t need faith to prop you up. Your own convictions are enough to keep you going for a long time, pushing you toward your goals.”
She wasn’t sure how accurate her read on people was, but Tang Lian had this vibrant energy about her—bold and dazzling. No matter what path she chose, she was the type to excel within her abilities.
She didn’t need to worship gods; believing in herself was plenty.
Nan Qi didn’t realize how captivating she was when she sincerely praised someone’s unique qualities, her eyes alight like flickering flames that instantly set Tang Lian ablaze.
Tang Lian felt the little deer in her heart come alive on its own, kicking wildly, desperate to break free and nuzzle against Nan Qi.
She reflected on her past and realized Nan Qi was spot on. From childhood onward, anything she touched or wanted to learn, she’d dive into deeply, mastering it to the best of her ability.
No rewards needed, no coaxing from elders—just because she wanted to, she did it.
For anything she liked, she wanted results.
Being too close to it all, she hadn’t noticed until someone she liked pointed it out. In that instant, she felt even more convinced that she and Nan Qi were fated. She couldn’t let this slip away.
Tang Lian flashed a dazzling smile, stepped forward, pulled a prayer mat from the cabinet, knelt on it, and devoutly bowed a few times to Wang Lingguan’s statue.
Then she turned back to Nan Qi. “Thanks for the high praise, Nan Qi~”
“But your judgment’s off by just a tiny bit,” she added, holding up her fingers to show a minuscule gap. “I do believe in gods and spirits. I believe there’s divine oversight three feet above our heads, that the yang world of the living and the yin world of the dead are governed separately—the living have police, the dead have grim reapers; the living have mayors running cities, and the dead have city gods.”
Tang Lian’s analogy left Nan Qi utterly stunned. She had no idea how to react.
Tang Lian always managed to surprise her with that air of mystery.
“I believe in spirits and tales of the underworld because of my job,” Tang Lian said suddenly. “Nan Qi, why don’t you take a guess at what I do?”
Nan Qi’s interest was piqued, just as Tang Lian had hoped. She began piecing together clues from everything she’d observed in Tang Lian’s home, watching the other woman’s expressions closely as she tried to figure out her profession.
She guessed one occupation after another, only to be shot down each time.
“A painter?”
“Nope.”
“A designer?”
“A doctor?”
“Not quite, but you’re getting close.”
“A beauty vlogger?”
“You’re warming up a little.”
“A plastic surgeon?”
“No.”
Nan Qi flopped weakly onto the sofa in defeat. Screw it—she started blurting out nonsense. “If it’s not this and it’s not that, and you’re so good at sweet-talking people while believing in ghosts and gods… you must be some kind of gu master! Like those sorceresses from Miao territory who breed venomous bugs and send them out to bewitch people’s minds.”
She’d meant it as a joke at first, but the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. How else could she explain following Tang Lian home after just a few words, eating dinner there, taking a shower, volunteering her shoe size, and casually agreeing to come back sometime?
Worked up now, Nan Qi sat bolt upright on the sofa. “Where do you keep your gu bugs? Show me the boxes or jars!”
Tang Lian couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the sight of Nan Qi’s soft, neatly parted palm extended toward her. She was utterly charmed by the other woman’s wild imagination.
Her laughter sent her hair tumbling into disarray, her body swaying as she toppled sideways onto the sofa beside Nan Qi. She landed soft and pliant, molding perfectly to the curve of Nan Qi’s body. With a sly glance, she tucked her smile into her foxlike eyes, which sparkled with mischief. Her breath was warm and sweet as she murmured, “If I were a gu master, I’d put a spell on you right now. You wouldn’t be going home tonight, hmm?”
“Your place isn’t sorted yet anyway. Just stay and sleep here. I’ll share the bed with you~”
Tang Lian slithered closer like a serpent. Nan Qi tried to dodge, but a long leg hooked around her waist, blocking any chance of retreat. She found herself pinned firmly against Tang Lian’s body.
In all her years, Nan Qi had never been this close to anyone except Bo Ranying.
She was completely at a loss, desperate to break free and flee, her words tumbling out in a jumbled mess. She wanted to shove Tang Lian away but feared accidentally touching somewhere she shouldn’t in her panic. She fidgeted like a shrimp tossed into a sizzling wok, her ears flushing a deep pink.
Anxiety and panic overwhelmed her.
She could feel Tang Lian’s warm breath brushing her neck—so close that the slightest movement might bring their lips together.
Nan Qi had no bandwidth left to ponder Tang Lian’s profession. Her heart hammered wildly, as if caught in a sudden gale on the open sea.
She couldn’t even think to wonder if Tang Lian was serious or just teasing. Her mind was a chaotic blank.
Finally, Tang Lian noticed Nan Qi holding her breath, forgetting to breathe on her own. Worried she might faint from the panic, Tang Lian released her, pinched her nose to force a gasp of air, and helped her recover before pulling back and creating some distance.
Nan Qi blinked in a daze. Freed at last, she scrambled to her feet. “Th-thanks for the hospitality. I really should head out. It’s getting late, heh. Time to go home and sleep. Gotta work tomorrow.”
Her words came out garbled, her mind and body still reeling from the shock. She had no idea what she was even saying.
She caught Tang Lian nodding at her but didn’t bother deciphering if the lip-read was “Next time, I’ll tell you about my job” or “Come back anytime” or whatever.
Snatching up her phone, Nan Qi bolted for the entryway like a cannonball. She changed shoes, slammed the door, rode the elevator to her floor, fished out her keys, and unlocked her door—all in one frantic rush.
She collapsed onto the freshly made bed in her cleaned-up room, staring blankly at the ceiling as she contemplated life.
She lay rigid for a long while before her rationality slowly returned.
Her hand trailed over the unfamiliar feel of the bedsheets beneath her, taking in the transformed room decor. The chaos of the day finally dissipated, and the reality of her move sank in.
She had left the little home she’d shared with Bo Ranying for four years—the one she’d clung to single-mindedly.
This outcome had always been inevitable. But just a few days ago, she’d never imagined making such a decisive, sudden choice.
Still, moving out didn’t feel half bad.
From now on, she’d enjoy living alone, get used to days without Bo Ranying.
A long-forgotten, almost childish smile crept onto Nan Qi’s face.
The silken threads that had trapped her in the spider’s web, winding round and round her body—they’d all be severed one by one from this day forward. She’d uproot the entire web and never again tumble headlong into the trap.
Nan Qi turned her thoughts to the future, steeling her resolve.
Her eyes fixed on the pristine white ceiling until exhaustion claimed them. She closed her lids, pulled up the covers, burrowed in, and the moment her head hit the pillow, sleep took her.
She’d been through too much that day, body and mind pushed beyond their limits.
The discomfort of her cold, the physical strain of moving, the repeated shocks at Tang Lian’s place, the weakness from staying up late… piled together, it exceeded her threshold.
She was exhausted. No time to think—only deep sleep to heal her weary self. It was her body’s natural defense mechanism.
She slept dreamlessly through the night, waking refreshed at dawn.
Meanwhile, across the city, Bo Ranying spent the night alone in her vast, empty apartment—a stark contrast to Nan Qi’s side.
