Chapter 83

A kiss devoid of any lingering affection, fueled by alcohol, unwittingly lent the atmosphere a dreamlike hue.

Moonlight cool as water poured through the window, its clear glow filtering across layered mountain peaks to illuminate the room. Dappled shadows danced within, perfectly complementing Tang Lian’s exquisite and charming features. The glimpse of her neck at the collar gleamed like polished white jade—a third kind of otherworldly beauty, exceptionally captivating.

Nan Qi’s heart pounded.

Her kisses trailed from the corner of Tang Lian’s lips down to that stretch of snowy white neck, lingering and teasing until faint pink marks bloomed. Tang Lian arched her body involuntarily, a soft hum escaping her throat.

It was a short, slightly sharp voice, utterly unlike her usual tone.

Nan Qi’s ears tingled.

She felt hazy, adrift.

Her cool brows and eyes now tinged with desire—like a monk who had meditated in an ancient temple for years, finally ensnared by the temptations of the mortal world. A breathtaking flush bloomed across her fair cheeks, so stunning that it stole Tang Lian’s breath.

“Lianlian, Lianlian~”

Nan Qi didn’t dare be too forward with the pliant, obedient girlfriend cradled in her arms. Instead, she nuzzled against her like a large cat, savoring the smooth coolness of her skin. She murmured her name again and again, her voice carrying the soft, lilting cadence unique to southern girls—slow, gentle, and faintly sweet.

Tang Lian watched Nan Qi’s aimless fumbling with a mix of tenderness and amusement, her affection deepening all the more.

She brushed back her fluffy curls, tucking stray strands behind her ear to bare her unshadowed profile.

A flirtatious smile curved her lips as she gazed at Nan Qi, her white chiffon skirt fanning out around her.

She was like a big boss in a game, patiently guiding a clueless newbie hero through the level.

Nan Qi’s eyes burned with intensity. Under Teacher Tang’s direction, her face flushed scarlet—like being teased for botching her sword training so badly that she couldn’t even grip the hilt properly, a critical stat check for any hero’s combat prowess.

She verified the “teasing” soon enough.

She bumped into something by accident, sending it clattering with a crisp jingle—like a temple bell tolling, its resonant chant piercing her ears. For a fleeting moment, Nan Qi’s mind cleared.

Focusing, she saw that the culprit was the bell toy she had bought for the cat Niannian. It had scattered across the floor and struck the table leg before rolling to a stop.

Glancing back at the scene before her, Nan Qi’s blush crept from her cheeks down her long neck. Shyly, she averted her eyes and reached out with trembling fingers to straighten Tang Lian’s collar, desperate to set things right.

She had actually…

In her daze, Nan Qi could scarcely recall what had just transpired.

Her timid caution drew a laugh from Tang Lian, who seized Nan Qi’s wrist and pressed a fervent kiss to it.

She kissed her while her own breaths came in ragged, unsteady gasps.

“Con…tinue? Mm?”

The smoldering ember in Nan Qi’s heart flared back to life. She responded clumsily, her thoughts a whirlwind—until a vital realization struck. With great effort, she resisted Tang Lian’s pull and stammered, “No, we can’t… we don’t have… that…”

“Which ‘that’?” Tang Lian captured the tip of her tongue, sending Nan Qi’s soul teetering on the edge of escape as a thin sheen of sweat broke across her skin.

Gasping for air, Nan Qi murmured in embarrassment, “Con—doms.”

It was knowledge gleaned from the yuri manga she followed religiously: protection ensured cleanliness and hygiene, minimizing any risk of infection. She refused to endanger her partner just for a moment’s pleasure.

Tang Lian’s peach-blossom eyes fluttered. “I’ve got some.”

“Huh?”

“I bought them when we first met.”

She had planned ahead with ulterior motives, preparing from the moment she first laid eyes on Nan Qi—no room for any untimely interruptions.

Nan Qi felt utterly thrown. Shoving away the relentless pecks from Tang Lian hovering over her, she was rendered speechless by the woman’s foresight. “You, you…”

She crumbled under Tang Lian’s scorching gaze and scrambled toward the bathroom.

Stammering all the while, “It’s so hot. I’m going to take a shower.”

“Together, then.”

Tang Lian tugged at her collar, her tongue flicking across perfect white teeth in intimate invitation.

Nan Qi pinched the wrinkled, damp hem of her skirt, her tone tinged with complaint. “You’ve gone and dirtied my skirt…”

Mortified enough to crawl into a hole, Nan Qi suppressed her urge to flee and refused with prim dignity. “No.”

With that, she spun on her heel and darted into the bathroom.

After her shower, the feverish haze of her thoughts had cooled. The alcohol had worn off, along with that reckless surge of impulse. She berated herself for her lapse in self-control tonight—it was far too soon in their relationship for intimacy like this.

She should wait a little longer, until their bond had grown more solid.

There was no need to rush.

After some deliberation, she emerged in her pajamas, one hand clapped over her eyes lest she glimpse another heart-racing sight. To her surprise, Tang Lian had already buttoned her shirt neatly.

Nan Qi froze in shock.

Her eyes met Tang Lian’s knowing gaze.

“No need to cover up. I knew a proper girl like you would come back and call it off.”

“Might as well call you Little Proper from now on.”

Tang Lian tested the nickname a few times, deciding it suited Nan Qi to perfection.

Nan Qi: “。。”

Tang Lian pouted playfully. “You’re punctuating me with periods now? Not even ellipses are enough for you?”

Nan Qi found her whimsy utterly endearing, though she still bristled at the nickname. Feigning a stern frown, she intoned gravely, “Does Big Sister have no shame at all?”

Tang Lian shrugged, unfazed by the mock severity. She rose with a grin to gather the scattered cat toys from the floor, wary of anyone slipping on the small objects. “So, Big Sister—did my prediction come true?”

“…Yes.”

“See? Perfect fit.”

“Don’t worry, Big Sister. I’ll only call you Little Proper when no one’s around.”

She brought it up once more.

Nan Qi sighed in resignation and let the matter drop.

She pitched in to tidy the empty boxes, sorting the cat supplies and stacking her own purchases to one side. She’d take them home later, so Niannian could enjoy two homes.

Bit by bit, the disarray gave way to order.

As Tang Lian straightened the area around the sofa, she scooped up their discarded coats from the floor.

In the motion, two lightweight slips of paper fluttered down, the word “VIP” faintly visible through them.

She snatched them midair; they landed face-up in her palm. Her eyes caught the Linxi Dance Troupe principal dancer’s name and tour details printed on the stubs.

Two premium inner-field tickets.

Tang Lian’s soft gaze sharpened in an instant, edged with something fierce as she ground her teeth. “Nan Qi Big Sister.”

Nan Qi spotted the tickets and jolted. In a flash, she remembered—she had forgotten to toss them.

A strange premonition washed over her: of course she couldn’t keep it hidden forever.

She had prepared to conceal it from Tang Lian, only to slip up in the end.

Her eyes clear and steady, Nan Qi met Tang Lian’s gaze head-on. Her expression and tone remained utterly calm—no trace of guilt, no attempt to dodge. She laid it all out plainly. “When you went to buy milk tea tonight, Bo Ranying gave them to me. Tickets to her tour—she wanted us to go together. I didn’t turn them down and accepted for the moment. But I had no intention of going. I planned to throw them away or give them to someone, so I figured there was no need to tell you.”

Tang Lian studied Nan Qi’s face intently, weighing her words against her demeanor as her own thoughts raced.

Her peach-blossom eyes drifted lazily while her slender fingers propped up her cheek. “Tickets that valuable—why toss them?”

Nan Qi was no expert, but even she knew the Linxi Dance Troupe’s tour carried immense prestige. Prime seats like these were worth a fortune.

Tang Lian’s enigmatic attitude set Nan Qi’s heart drumming uncertainly; she couldn’t read her true feelings and chose her response with care.

She managed only a soft “Ah.”

With graceful poise, Tang Lian pulled out her phone and typed Bo Ranying’s name into the search engine.

The first page brimmed with details of her social standing, achievements, and performance history. Further down, links to her personal Weibo account.

Tang Lian tapped through them one by one, her eyes dazzled by the string of accolades: acclaimed Chinese female dancer and national first-class performer; principal dancer of the Linxi Dance Troupe; gold medal in the A-grade junior girls’ division for Chinese modern dance in 20xx; gold in the A-grade youth girls’ division at the Peach and Plum Cup National Dance Competition in 20xx; gold in the comprehensive category of the CCTV Television Dance Competition; “Outstanding Performance Award” for her role in the dance drama Luo Shen during the □□ National Arts Academy’s performance season in 20xx; “Super Dancer” title from the CCTV-hosted Dance Forest Contest…

A surge of admiration welled in her. She opened Bo Ranying’s Weibo next, scrolling through her posted dance videos and clicking play. She beckoned Nan Qi over to watch as well.

At first, Nan Qi had no idea what Tang Lian was up to with such seriousness. But then the background music blared from the phone’s speaker, and her body went rigid.

Tang Lian kept marveling aloud. “Bo Ranying dances so beautifully—like she’s weaving a story through every movement, unfolding scene by scene. I’ve never seen her perform before; I should have sooner. Big Sister, come watch with me.”

She tugged Nan Qi closer.

Nan Qi slumped against her side, reluctant. “You can just watch by yourself.”

Even so, she couldn’t help stealing a few glances at the screen.

Tang Lian proceeded to watch video after video of Bo Ranying’s dances.

The song and its background music filtered softly into her ears, leaving Nan Qi feeling like she was sitting on pins and needles. No matter how she thought about it, watching Bo Ranying’s video together with Tang Lian felt utterly strange.

Then, with even greater helplessness, she realized from a few accidental glimpses of the screen that she could clearly identify exactly which performance Tang Lian was watching—one of Bo Ranying’s shows in a certain city, at a certain venue, featuring a particular dance piece. Memories surged through her mind, scene after vivid scene as clear as yesterday.

After fidgeting uncomfortably for a while, Nan Qi couldn’t hold back any longer and wanted to call a stop to it.

She tugged at Tang Lian’s arm, pressing her cheek against the side of her neck. “Let’s not watch anymore. Why don’t you tell me about being a mortician instead?”

After knowing each other for so long, she had come to realize that the job Tang Lian had mentioned before wasn’t just some deliberate tease.

“Hand over the tickets. I’ll keep them safe—no throwing them out. A stage like that is so much more thrilling to watch live.”

Tang Lian’s voice rang out at the same time.

Nan Qi stared in shock as Tang Lian navigated back to Bo Ranying’s homepage and added her to the follow list.

What did she mean by that?

Next, Tang Lian neatly folded the two tickets together, stood up to put them away, clearly guarding against the possibility of Nan Qi sneaking them into the trash when she wasn’t looking.

Nan Qi’s eyebrows twitched. Still laced with surprise and doubt, she asked, “You really want to go see Bo Ranying perform?”

“Is that not allowed?”

Tang Lian countered.

Through this, she wanted to gauge whether Nan Qi still harbored any lingering feelings for Bo Ranying.

“It’s not that I mind…” Nan Qi sighed inwardly, at a complete loss for words.

The story’s trajectory had already veered far beyond her expectations.

If Tang Lian insisted on going, then she had no choice but to accompany her.

With a somewhat resigned slump—like what will be, will be—Nan Qi leaned crookedly against Tang Lian’s side.

But Tang Lian suddenly gave her a gentle push, urging her to sit up straight on her own. She pointed at the white dress, indicating that Nan Qi should go take a bath too.

Nan Qi glanced in the direction of her finger, and the shame from earlier came flooding back. She hurriedly covered her face, waved her hand dismissively, and buried her head into the sofa cushions, not wanting to utter another word.

The girl walked away with a light laugh.

Perhaps out of consideration for her feelings, or maybe because she had already gotten enough laughs out of her for one night and didn’t want to tease her any harder, the outfit Tang Lian changed into was a perfectly ordinary flannel nightgown.

As she walked, she resembled a fluffy ball radiating cozy warmth.

Carrying that wintery warmth with her, she scooted close to Nan Qi and sat down. A smile played across her lips as she naturally rested her head on Nan Qi’s shoulder and began to softly recount her experiences since entering the mortician profession.

“If you get scared, just pinch my hand, and I won’t go on.”

“But even if you stop, I’ll still be scared.”

“I’ll find another way to make you forget your fear.”

Nan Qi was puzzled.

“Like this.”

Tang Lian tilted her head up and brushed a gentle kiss against her lips.

A faint lime scent clung to her nostrils at the same time, leaving Nan Qi to savor the kiss.

She had to admit, it was highly effective.

Nan Qi pursed her lips and pinched Tang Lian’s earlobe a little harder by way of punishment.

“My first brush with death came in second grade. The teacher told us that a classmate had been struck by a car on his way home from school. She led all of us to his funeral… In that small coffin in the mourning hall, I saw his face after the mortician had restored it. It looked about eighty percent like him in life. If I hadn’t known for certain that he was gone, I might have thought he was just sleeping. It shocked me deeply and moved me to the core…”

“At the time, I didn’t even know the specifics of the mortician profession, but I’ve never been able to forget the impact that funeral had on me.”

Nan Qi listened quietly as Tang Lian spoke in a calm, reminiscent tone about the fateful connection that had drawn her to the mortician’s path. Little by little, her heart absorbed the emotion Tang Lian described: death wasn’t something frightening after all.

At first, she had thought she would be terrified—clutching her ears instinctively or begging Tang Lian to stop.

But instead, she found herself utterly absorbed.