Chapter 24 Part 2

Ji Xiunian considered. “Then let’s wait here a bit. I’ll call Assistant Le and have him come pick her up.”

Fang Xun: “Works for me.”

Anything, so long as she didn’t have to lay hands on the Dean herself.

The call connected quickly.

Ji Xiunian was very courteous. “Assistant Le, hello. Sorry to bother you so late. Your President Zhou has had too much to drink. Could you come collect her?”

Le Cheng jolted upright, his voice going abruptly grave. “My apologies, Professor Ji—I’ve gone back to my hometown for an urgent matter. Could you possibly see President Zhou home yourself?”

“Then can you send someone else?”

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t trust anyone else with it. Only you… I’ll send you the… address, by text. Okay, I— I… the signal… is bad here… Sorry to trouble you. Goodbye!”

The call cut off abruptly.

Ji Xiunian stared at her screen. A text arrived almost at once: Zhou Lang’s address.

With a special note appended: a solo apartment; family not in residence.

Ji Xiunian sighed. “Then you’ll drive? I’ve had half a glass myself.”

Fang Xun: “Sure, sure, no problem.”

“You can at least help me support her?”

“You got it.”

To her credit, Fang Xun kept a careful distance—she steadied Zhou Lang’s arm for exactly one second, then let go as if scalded, surrendering the drunk entirely to Ji Xiunian.

“Mm…” The sudden weight nearly bowled her over. Ji Xiunian steadied herself. “Why are drunk people… this heavy?”

Fang Xun was puzzled. “Dean Zhou looks pretty slim, though?”

Ji Xiunian tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “I didn’t say she was fat… that’s not what I meant. Never mind.”

Even her shoulder blades were bony against her arms.

It had simply been too long—too long since she’d been accustomed to the feel of skin against skin, trading breath and warmth and heartbeat.

Human skin was a strange thing. One touch, and some longing from deep within her body caught fire—a longing for… more, deeper contact.

Holding hands, perhaps. An embrace.

And of course the woman had her face buried in the crook of her neck, one arm looped around her as if it were the most natural thing in the world, breath spilling warm across her collarbone. It tickled maddeningly.

Ji Xiunian looked away, uncomfortable, half-supporting Zhou Lang’s weight, her voice turning exceptionally gentle. “All right. Let’s get you home.”

Zhou Lang stayed buried against her, but at least she was docile, not squirming.

Ji Xiunian half-carried her out with Fang Xun alongside, her own thoughts already in disarray—and Fang Xun chattered the whole way. “Dean Zhou really did drink too much tonight.”

“A bit, yes.”

“Teacher Meng was always too close to Gao Qirui, and her tongue’s still just as sour… Honestly, Dean Zhou was clearly blocking those toasts for you, and the way she tells it, it’s something else entirely.”

“…”

Ji Xiunian had to cut her off. “That’s enough.”

Fang Xun shut up at once. “Okay.”

On the way, Zhou Lang was quite well-behaved—she simply refused to let go, cheek pressed to Ji Xiunian’s shoulder, nuzzling past the side of her neck, once, and again.

Ji Xiunian found it uncomfortable, but couldn’t very well shove her off too hard.

All the while she thought, perhaps I should practice my drinking too.

She truly wasn’t used to this kind of closeness. At last they reached Zhou Lang’s building, where Fang Xun refused point-blank to go up. “Teacher Ji, you take Dean Zhou up. I’ll wait for you here.”

Ji Xiunian couldn’t fathom what she was being squeamish about, but it was late, and she didn’t argue. “Then wait for me. Don’t leave.”

Zhou Lang lived in a single apartment.

The lock was fingerprint-activated. Ji Xiunian took Zhou Lang’s wrist and, carefully, guided her thumb to the sensor—daring neither to look at those long fingers nor to touch their pale, clean tips.

The lights came on. The living room was open and immaculate; if not for a single drinking glass on the dining table, you’d never guess anyone lived here. Cream-white furniture, pale coffee floors with matching curtains, walls bare—not even a single illustration.

Ji Xiunian paused before stepping inside.

When she’d first known Zhou Lang, they’d both been seventeen or eighteen, and she had visited the Zhou home: a dedicated storage cabinet for limited edition bags and jewelry, pink-white wallpaper, a balcony crowded with potted plants… This place, by contrast, was spare and spotless, without a speck of dust.

Nothing like the home in her memory.

Ji Xiunian couldn’t help looking down at her, her gaze settling on Zhou Lang’s lashes. She really had grown thin; her bone structure stood out sharper than before. If the Zhou Lang of their youth had been a crabapple blossom in full, vivid bloom, the woman now had a distinctly colder air—beautiful still, every feature.

After a silence, she called to her. “Can you hear me? Which room is your bedroom?”

Not a whisper of response.

The balcony screen door stood open, and small insects were already battering against it.

Ji Xiunian didn’t want to waste any more time. She laid Zhou Lang on the sofa and opened doors one by one—though the master bedroom was easy to identify, being the only furnished room; all the others stood empty.

She moved Zhou Lang onto the bed, then stalled over her clothes. After long hesitation, all she did was crouch and remove her high heels, then pull the quilt up and tuck it around her.

Ji Xiunian paused. Zhou Lang’s forehead was damp with sweat, the hair at her temples plastered down.

She checked the time, and stopped hesitating. With a dampened cotton soft towel she wiped her face, and seeing the earrings at her ears, bent down to unclasp them carefully.

But she was far, far too close—close enough to feel Zhou Lang’s breath at the side of her neck, like an elusive summer wind, brushing over her again and again, until she felt warm all over.

By the time she finally worked the earrings free, she was sweating too. As she drew her hand back, it was seized…

Ji Xiunian froze. “You…”

But the drunk woman only rubbed her hand against her cheek, like a small animal seeking comfort, nowhere near waking.

Trust. Softness. Warmth.

Ji Xiunian slowly drew her hand back.

She stared at Zhou Lang’s tangled hair and, without thinking, moved to smooth it—only for her hand to stop in midair. In the end it never came down. Her fingertips curled slowly inward, and she withdrew.

She switched on a wall lamp by the bed and left.

The instant Ji Xiunian closed the door, the woman who had been dead drunk opened her eyes—then closed them again.

Consciousness sank back into fog.

But the high-proof liquor still burned in her stomach, miserable and raw.

Even asleep, her brow stayed knotted.

She dreamed.

In the dream it was that snowy night again, and she was waiting in the snow.

She waited a long, long time.

The lamp burned all night—but its owner never came out to see her.

At last, she woke in pain.

Zhou Lang opened her eyes, fumbled for the switch in the dark, and lit the wall lamp by the bed.

She got up to look.

It was indeed raining outside. The forecast had said the weather would turn these past few days—no wonder her knee and ankle ached… the old injury from that snowy night, throbbing dully every time the rain came.

Zhou Lang pushed open the window and reached out her hand to catch the water dripping from the eaves.

A raindrop landed in her palm; another fell to the ground with a soft slap.

It didn’t matter. The runaway who had fled back then—this time, she would catch her herself.

In the small hours the rain stopped. Zhou Lang showered, changed into clean clothes, and drove to Ning University, where she spotted Fang Xun and called out, “Fang Xun—were you the one who took me home last night?”

Fang Xun shook her head. “I only did the driving. Professor Ji was the one who took you inside.”

Zhou Lang: “Oh. She took me home so late—won’t her family say anything?”

Fang Xun had answered a similar question once before, back when she’d been naive and blurted things out. Now she was sharper. She hesitated. “That’s, um… other people’s private business. I really couldn’t say.”

This girl’s wits have multiplied, Zhou Lang thought, half amused. “I was only asking. If you’d rather not say, don’t.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to…” Fang Xun squirmed. “It’s just, you’re always asking me about Professor Ji, so I get a little hesitant… I don’t even know what you two…”

Zhou Lang laughed. “So after all that, you just want to know what our relationship is. Am I right?”

Fang Xun, ace gossip, nodded hard. “Yes.”

“It’s nothing complicated. Our relationship is very simple,” Zhou Lang said, her expression as placid as if she were remarking on the fine sunny day. “We’ve slept together.”

Fang Xun: “!!!”

Too! Explosive!

Wait… “slept together”? Did that mean… loved?

Seeing her stunned face, Zhou Lang tilted her head. “Now can you tell me?”

Fang Xun was dazed. “I…”

Those few words had conjured an entire epic in her head—love and hate raging across the seas, the more they hated, the deeper they loved. Her brain had short-circuited entirely.

“Ahem… the, um, specifics, I really don’t know…”

Actually… she had once overheard Ji Xiunian on the phone, refusing someone’s attempt to set her up… But that was Ji Xiunian’s private matter. She absolutely had to respect and protect it—even if she said anything, she couldn’t be too specific.

Zhou Lang kept smiling. “Fine. You don’t need to say anything.”

Fang Xun watched her with some worry, wondering if she’d offended her.

Though she too had sensed that Ji Xiunian treated Zhou Lang differently, she would never share someone’s private affairs without permission.

Zhou Lang was in a good mood. She nodded to her. “It’s fine. I’m off.”

No matter. Next time, she could simply ask Ji Anyang.

The office door stood ajar.

Zhou Lang knocked. “Professor Ji? Are you in?”

“Come in.”

Ji Xiunian looked up at her, puzzled why she was knocking so formally.

But Zhou Lang was all sunshine, strolling to her desk and pulling over a stool. “Professor Ji—were you the one who took me home last night?”

Ji Xiunian looked at her. “What is it?”

Zhou Lang made an affirming sound, then pointed at her, and at herself. “What you did to me—have you forgotten?”

Ji Xiunian blinked. “What did I do to you?”

Zhou Lang had no choice but to pull down her collar. The marks on that slender white throat looked exceedingly suggestive. “There. You bit me.”

Ji Xiunian’s tone was grave. “I did not!”

“But you were the only one at my place last night.”

“I told you. I didn’t.”

“Then lean in and look. That’s a bite mark, isn’t it?”

“I won’t look. Whether it’s there or not, I didn’t do it.”

Zhou Lang slowed her voice down. “Really, truly didn’t? Then what have you to feel guilty about? Just look.”

Ji Xiunian: “…”

She had discovered that Zhou Lang could be genuinely unreasonable at times.

If she didn’t settle this today, once and for all, Zhou Lang might well sulk about it for a whole day.

“Lower your head. Let me see.”

“All right.”

For once, Zhou Lang cooperated beautifully, undoing the top two buttons of her shirt and baring that slender, fair neck. Sure enough, in some spot behind her ear, along the side of her throat, there was a strange mark.

Ji Xiunian couldn’t see it clearly. She rose and bent down to look—never noticing that she was now nearly pressed against Zhou Lang’s shoulder, a distance far too close, well inside the danger zone.

She said uncertainly, “Are you sure it’s a bite? Could it be a bug?”

“I live that high up,” Zhou Lang disputed. “There are no bugs.”

She turned her head suddenly to speak. Before Ji Xiunian could pull back, her lips grazed across that soft neck—a brush, there and gone—and her nerve endings fired a jolt of tension and electricity straight to her brain. Her lips went numb.

Zhou Lang, perfectly composed, cupped her own pale chin with one hand, the corner of her mouth curving, her dark pupils fixed unblinking on Ji Xiunian—clear, clean eyes, and a tone so idle it made a person want to slap her. “I was asleep. I was entirely at your mercy. So—were you plotting something untoward against me last night?”