Chapter 42: Trouble from a Loose Tongue

The raw wood bar counter was a little low. The electric kettle’s cord was still coiled in the base’s storage slot, right next to the hotel-supplied tea bags, coffee sticks, and small snacks. They were neatly sorted into small wooden boxes of matching sizes, sharing an oval walnut tray with a few glacier-patterned glass cups.

The instant Zhong Jia was lifted onto the bar counter, panic surged through her. She groped for something to hold onto, and the smooth, cool surface under her hand brought that entire scene flashing into her mind.

Even though her gaze never wavered from Xie Yingnian, the fine, dense kisses slowly eroded her reason. She couldn’t tell if it was discomfort or pleasure—her eyes half-closed, yet still glued to every inch of Xie Yingnian’s face, unwilling to miss even a moment of this warm version of her.

It hadn’t even been a few days since Xie Yingnian had allowed her into this private domain, granting her the perks of sharing a bed. Yet Zhong Jia’s curiosity about this woman burned so fiercely that it overrode her usual indifference to living spaces. She wasn’t picky about beds or decor at all, but she’d still carefully noted every nook and cranny of the room.

Observing. Comparing. Memorizing.

Then she realized her understanding still couldn’t penetrate deep enough—it only skimmed the surface of trivial things that even Jujiu knew. Like Xie Yingnian’s habit of drinking a cup of coffee morning and night, the six-digit lock screen code that piqued her curiosity but remained a mystery, or the obsessive-compulsive tendencies that made her assistant’s job almost redundant…

Xie Yingnian, how many masks do you wear? What does it really look like when you like someone?

Do you truly like me?

She realized she was all too easily ensnared by that word. It felt like catching the slightest hint was enough to fuel an endless stream of flimsy excuses for throwing herself into the fray.

So even as a child, no matter how much Qiao Yingqiu rejected her, the sound of the door would still send her toddling over on eager feet. A few steps from her mother, she’d halt, tucking the arms aching to embrace that safe harbor behind her back. She’d fidget, left foot twisting over right, and call out sweetly, “Mommy,” in a bid for approval.

Qiao Yingqiu might roll her eyes and brush past without a glance. If she was in a good mood that day, she might slip Zhong Jia a candy from who-knows-where.

Of course, more often than not, Zhong Jia earned a slap for using a title she had no business using—a way to vent frustrations.

None of those possibilities ever dimmed her sunflower-like dependence on the woman who’d given her life. She always brimmed with hope.

Even many years after Qiao Yingqiu’s death, Zhong Kefei’s indifference became a stark point of reference: If she truly didn’t care, wouldn’t she have abandoned me long ago?

Qiao Yingqiu should have had the natural maternal instincts granted by pregnancy hormones toward the son and daughter she’d borne. But her womb had been used by a man, and a marriage impure from the start had warped her.

The media exaggerated with their words, but she had always been someone ruled by emotion. Otherwise, she wouldn’t have loudly announced her marriage and pregnancy at the peak of her career, taking a break from acting.

That innate nature clashed violently with bitter regret and hatred. Toward Zhong Kefei, Qiao Yingqiu was like a poisonous rose, malformed from soil once fertile but now parched. With her son, she repeatedly sued in court, viewing the child she’d borne at the cost of her figure as her possession—why hand him over to the man who’d deceived and betrayed her?

Toward her daughter, societal norms restrained her. Even Qian Peiqing bound her with traditional rhetoric. Qiao Yingqiu couldn’t escape the role of mother. Her conscience hadn’t fully eroded, and traces of hatred lingered. In those years, she gave Zhong Jia a hollow semblance of a home.

And you?

Sometimes gentle, always distant, now rough and utterly real in how you treat me. Xie Yingnian, are you just another monster mired in contradictory muck? Perfect—I’ve got some fragmented, inexpressible experience in dealing with monsters.

If she had to systematize it and give it a name…

Zhong Jia’s wandering thoughts were snapped back by another stab of pain on her lips. She frowned and drew in a sharp breath. Xie Yingnian’s low voice sounded in her ear. “I want you to focus. Start with something as immersive as this—learn to feel me completely.”

She studied Zhong Jia’s expression and found no disgust or fear. Only then did she add flatly, “Don’t give me a reason to punish you.”

Was it punishment?

Because she’d lost focus, the kisses paused briefly. Zhong Jia carefully traced every mark Xie Yingnian had left on her body. Stripping away the sensations from her features, what stood out clearest was the pain.

She licked her split lower lip. The ache, like a wisdom tooth just starting to flare, carried a vibrant itchiness. Willingly enduring it sparked a surge of springlike vitality, and in that moment, inspiration for a name struck her.

This self-derived experience should be called sacrifice. When dealing with a man-eating monster, was there a better way than offering tribute?

If this crude pain was punishment, then the signs had been there all along.

What had she done before entering this room?

Inspiration flashed. Zhong Jia thought back to the nine o’clock curfew. After a moment’s reflection, she flashed Xie Yingnian a playful smile. “Are you jealous?”

Her heel kicked back playfully, her joy plain on her face—mouth split wide to reveal her little tiger teeth.

Xie Yingnian gave her a puzzled look, and she pressed on. “Because I had dinner with Gong Wenyin?”

The girl perched on the counter had disheveled clothes. Chongxiang had warmed up lately, but the temperature was still unpredictable. Zhong Jia, young and bold, dressed lightly: a light blue denim jacket over a ginger-yellow crewneck long-sleeve, paired with a fluffy white cake skirt below.

She rarely dressed so fairy-like, but lately she’d followed Gong Wenyin on social media, and vice versa. Gong Wenyin, a former idol contestant, came with built-in fans who trailed her relentlessly, pumping out quick, gorgeous photos. Zhong Jia often hung out chatting with her, so even with mosaics, she ended up in shots too.

Those pics hit the internet, and some public account broke the news that she’d sing the OST for Gong Wenyin’s drama. Snowball effect—suddenly, they had a horde of CP fans online.

Gong Wenyin was straight as a rail, her casual style prim and ladylike. Younger Zhong Jia dressed more casually, mixing styles, but usually stuck to comfy oversized fits.

If she’d worn her usual tonight, walking side-by-side and getting “spotted,” it would’ve been hard for CP fans not to imagine her as the top—or at least 0.9.

But top or 0.9, the prefix had to be Xie Yingnian.

Xie Yingnian glanced at the tender shoulder she’d nipped, then quickly looked away. She was a master at masking her emotions—jealousy included.

“Because you didn’t get any cake.”

She said it dead seriously.

Zhong Jia was stunned. Forgetting to fix her clothes, she scrambled to hop down. “You remembered it that much and still said it wasn’t good? I’ll go buy some now…”

She didn’t quite make it down. Xie Yingnian pulled back her face but stayed planted in place, her body blocking Zhong Jia’s legs from closing. On purpose.

Even jumping outward meant landing in her arms.

“No need to buy any.” Xie Yingnian gripped Zhong Jia’s legs firmly through the soft fabric of the cake skirt. She stepped back a few paces, pulling her away from the cold counter to somewhere sturdier and warmer.

Xie Yingnian’s complexion was still pallid, but Zhong Jia could tell her stamina had improved noticeably. Working out on the down-low?

Zhong Jia felt like she was unboxing surprises. A confession she’d thought hopeless got a trial run. Silent affection kept proving itself in ways she never expected.

So what surprise hid behind this “no need to buy cake”?

A gentle kiss landed on Zhong Jia’s nose tip. Xie Yingnian’s eyes clearly separated reward from reprimand. She wanted to thank this girl who’d sniffed out danger and approached anyway—for taking her offhand “not bad” seriously and dashing around an unfamiliar city all evening for it.

A caged beast let out for air. The zookeeper was no expert at taming, clueless about fighting fire with fire. Even clawed and bitten bloody, she wouldn’t abandon it.

Zhong Jia, are you the kind of person Ni Qian described?

“My cake grew legs and jumped right into my hands,” Xie Yingnian said, knowing her heart had already leaned toward an answer.

The words “my cake” made Zhong Jia’s cheeks burn as possession sank in. She quickly realized what it meant, coughed, and looked away awkwardly—glancing here, peering there—before her eyes settled back on Xie Yingnian’s face.

She poked Xie Yingnian’s sensitive nape, ears red as she whispered, her tone almost inviting. “Want a taste then?”

The words shocked even her with their brazenness. Dodging Xie Yingnian’s subtle expression, she stammered an explanation. “Ahem… I mean, cake doesn’t taste good the next day.”

“It’s common knowledge…” Her voice trailed off, utterly guilty as she made it up.

Xie Yingnian didn’t react. Zhong Jia leaned to her ear, pleading. “Just say if you want to or not? Stop tricking me for being slow and setting traps.”

It tickled—that winding, soft voice made her heart itch too. Xie Yingnian shrank her neck and gave a soft hum of agreement.

Then she carried her a few steps sideways, tone mild. “Before that, Miss Zhong—who’s been anything but focused on me, on being kissed, or on answering questions—I have to ask once more—”

Not focused, not focused, not focused. She emphasized each one.

Zhong Jia recalled Xie Yingnian’s recent wholehearted punishment as a warning, and she couldn’t help but tense up. A mix of shameful anticipation and excitement stirred within her at the thought of voicing it aloud.

There was no need to ask. As she drew closer, the item on the carpet came into view—a familiar pink package.

She let go, and Zhong Jia landed steadily on her feet.

A certain kid, unwilling to face maximum social embarrassment, buried her head in Xie Yingnian’s shoulder like an ostrich, turning her back to the purchase she had made in prudent preparation. Xie Yingnian felt the weight rubbing against her shoulder, as if silently pleading “spare me.” She smiled. Teasing others was one of the few wicked pastimes she allowed herself to indulge in, and she certainly wouldn’t miss this golden opportunity.

“Why did you buy something else too?”

“Else? I didn’t…”

Zhong Jia realized she had given herself away and flushed with mortification. She wanted to charter a flight to the capital that very night and throw down with Chen Kuang, who had egged her on to buy the thing in the first place. Xie Yingnian chuckled. “So today, you went all out and spent good money to make sure I could taste you safely and hygienically?”

It wasn’t just spending money—it was splashing out big time. Zhong Jia, who was in debt, hadn’t even bothered with a privacy screen protector for her phone and had opted for the cheap option. Yet after chatting with the customer service rep at the adult store, she had splurged on the priciest model, the one that was supposed to make her partner feel incredible.

Zhong Jia didn’t want to lie to her, not even about something this small. “Actually… it’s not quite that.”

“Then what is it?”

“I bought it for you.”

What was the difference between the two?

Xie Yingnian feigned confusion, but Zhong Jia had no idea that this scheming woman knew exactly what was up—she just wanted to hear Zhong Jia say it herself.

The girl’s shoulder was still half-exposed as she turned beet red, struggling for a good long while before mumbling, “It’s for me to use, but it’s for your sake. I’ve never done it before, so I was afraid it might hurt you. A little practice should make it better, right?”

Xie Yingnian paused visibly, falling silent for several seconds before reaching out to tug the distracting collar back into place.

Should she praise her honesty or call her a fool?

Zhong Jia had guessed wrong, but that didn’t stop Xie Yingnian from drawing a wicked inspiration from her confession. Considering the need for gradual steps, she tucked the idea away into her secret plans for now.

For the next few days, their routine in the shared room was much the same: washing up, grabbing a bite, rehearsing lines, and then lying properly in bed to chat—usually with Zhong Jia doing most of the talking while Xie Yingnian responded. Before long, they would drift off to sleep.

A few evenings that were utterly ordinary yet strangely surreal.

The moonlight outside the window was beautiful, with a few stars twinkling in the sky. The breeze carried the scent of early spring.

On a night where it would have felt like a crime against the atmosphere not to let something happen, the ordinary routine came to an end as the woman who had just blow-dried her hair in the bathroom slipped into the other side of the bed.

Zhong Jia climbed onto the bed and deftly burrowed under the covers. She nudged Xie Yingnian’s leg with her foot. The other woman made a questioning sound. “Hm?”

“I’m all washed up.” With that, she rolled over. The messy strands at the crown of her head, tousled by the blow dryer, hung low, tucked into the cramped, ambiguous space between them.

Long, wavy locks cascaded over the pillow, her shoulder, and her hand.

Zhong Jia inhaled the scent, identical to that of her own hair, and felt the heat rising in her cheeks. Xie Yingnian, still facing away from her, let out another plain hum.

Hum what? Who was the one who had talked about wanting cake? And now she was sitting there like some enlightened monk in meditation.

Zhong Jia stewed in frustration for a moment before reviewing the evening’s events in her mind. She was certain that Xie Yingnian was acting strangely again—or rather, showing her hand once more.

The previous instances had been because of me. This time was no different.

Was using herself as bait really enough?

She was curious, but she didn’t need to ask for the reason. Xie Yingnian, if it took sacrificing just a bit of face to draw out the most authentic part of you—to let that true soul break free and drift, to truly feel—I was willing.

Zhong Jia wrapped her arms around Xie Yingnian from behind. Her heart pounded so fiercely that she could barely catch her breath. She took a deep inhale, mustered her courage, and said, “Xie Yingnian, time for a midnight snack.”

She poked at the soft flesh of the other woman’s abdomen, blissfully unaware that she was essentially offering herself up to a tiger.

“Where?” Xie Yingnian asked, her gaze fixed on the wall ahead.

The little thing had taken the bait. Xie Yingnian hadn’t done a thing; Zhong Jia’s patience had simply run out first. Whatever came next—good or bad—was out of her hands now.

It was this girl, coiling her leg around Xie Yingnian’s waist, who was asking for trouble.

Xie Yingnian’s back was nudged by a forehead, and Zhong Jia’s voice sounded utterly embarrassed. “Me.”

She gave off a fresh, alluring scent that she herself couldn’t detect, and her innocence left her blind to the danger. That was until Xie Yingnian suddenly turned over while Zhong Jia was still muttering under her breath, “Chen Kuang—uh, my good friend—she said this sort of thing doesn’t have to be one-sided. It’s perfectly normal for both people to please each other.”

“I meant that you don’t want to be the one taking the lead…”

The movement at the edge of the bed slowed her words. Her eyes followed Xie Yingnian as she rolled over to face her, only to be pierced by the other woman’s deep, bottomless gaze, leaving her stunned.

Her slightly parted lips were captured without mercy by the woman who leaned in close. Xie Yingnian kissed her with eyes wide open, stripping away the obstructive clothing piece by piece while savoring the pained yet obedient expression on Zhong Jia’s face as she endured it.

Xie Yingnian had been raising this girl for years now. The changes to her appearance were plain to see, but as for her inner world, Xie Yingnian didn’t mind serving as her true guide into adulthood.

She was the daughter of Qiao Yingqiu—both an ex-lover and an old friend. When Qian Peiqing passed away, her gaze had lingered heavily on Zhong Jia’s face, as if entrusting the orphaned sixteen-year-old girl into Xie Yingnian’s hands.

From that point on, Xie Yingnian had shouldered the responsibility in the guise of Mr. Xie. Zhong Jia had become the “daughter” in Zhou Chun’s words.

Moral shackles bound only those with a conscience, ordinary folk with good hearts. Xie Yingnian’s conscience was nothing more than a fine layer of lacquer on her skin. Violating ethics brought her a thrill instead of shame, and knowing the source wasn’t her own doing left her free of guilt.

Anyone lucky enough—or bold enough—to peel away that layer and glimpse her true face had better be prepared to pay the price at any moment.

Zhong Jia let out soft sobs and called her name again.

“How many times was that?” Xie Yingnian refused to admit that her heart had softened. She kept her eyes lowered, avoiding the irritating sight of the tears on Zhong Jia’s face, and thrust a few more times before finally stopping.

A pair of limp legs slid down from her shoulders. Zhong Jia curled up slightly and replied through her nose, her voice thick with confusion.

Seeing Zhong Jia shivering from the cold, Xie Yingnian pulled the covers over her naked, marked body. She leaned down close and explained the harsh lesson in her calmest tone: “Trouble comes from the mouth.”

Ignoring the bloody split in her lip, Xie Yingnian leaned down for a deep kiss to rouse her awareness of the pain. Then she pulled back just enough for them to see each other clearly and gave a meaningful smile. “When this isn’t enough to settle the debt, do it just like that again.”

Almost on reflex, as the words left her mouth, Zhong Jia clamped her legs together and bit her lip, processing the lingering ache amid the wetness. She was drenched in sweat, and in the stark contrast of red against white, she exuded a fragile, broken beauty born of possession.

The temptation was immense, but Xie Yingnian rolled off the bed anyway and headed into the bathroom to wash her hands and rinse her mouth.

She set the rinse cup in place—hotel cleaning services weren’t always reliable. From the drying rack, she grabbed her own towel and rinsed it under the warm tap water. That delectable little cake might have grown legs, but it certainly wasn’t walking anywhere; she would have to clean her up herself.

In the mirror, Xie Yingnian’s focused expression stared back at her. She thought to herself that she should count her blessings. Zhong Jia was a blank slate, after all. Otherwise, with Xie Yingnian’s stamina—no matter how much she trained—she probably couldn’t have satisfied her.