Chapter 52: Praying for Your Safety

In that instant, Zhong Jia felt a bit dazed.

Her hands were gripped tightly by Xie Yingnian and pressed against the door. The command not to move was already being thoroughly enforced by the other woman’s coercion. As for the second part—hold tight… how was she supposed to do that?

Xie Yingnian’s body heat lingered on her wrists. While enduring the other woman’s kisses that varied unpredictably in depth and intensity, Zhong Jia tried to struggle just a little, hoping to obey and embrace her—the person she hadn’t seen in over two months.

But as soon as she made the slightest move, those slender yet strong fingers clamped down even more securely. The light from the lounge slanted across the wall, casting the shadows of the two figures into the edge of her vision.

Zhong Jia caught sight of Xie Yingnian’s hand. It started half-clenched into a fist, then slowly unfurled in the silent darkness, fingers distinct and evenly proportioned. Her breathing grew unsteady, but she couldn’t help turning her face to watch as those beautiful fingers recaptured her, personally witnessing how her faint urge to escape was snuffed out in that palm—

Xie Yingnian was telling her: no running away, and nowhere to run.

Her wrist bones tapped lightly against the door. Zhong Jia felt as if not just her hands, but her very heart had been seized by Xie Yingnian. Her pulse returned slowly, her body heating up everywhere. She slowly closed her eyes, her mind replaying frame by frame the moments just before when she’d been bound and stripped of freedom.

It was so hard to describe this feeling. How could anyone play the dominant role so perfectly? Her gaze and actions all screamed danger, yet every touch was so gentle—fervent but restrained. Zhong Jia was on the verge of drowning in this alluring contradiction.

“Lost in thought?” Xie Yingnian asked softly, not waiting for an answer before nipping punishingly at the delicate skin of her neck.

Zhong Jia endured the sting of pain, steadying her breath before she managed to say, “No… I, I can’t hold you.”

Her words came out stumbling, because she heard a voice that didn’t sound like her own. The phrase “besotted and bewitched” floated into her mind. Her whole body trembled, and those fragmented gasps escaped her throat involuntarily.

Hearing them slip into her ears, Xie Yingnian was clearly delighted by her reaction—whether it was the obedient demeanor despite being restrained, or the vulnerable fragility in this moment.

Mine alone. No one else gets to see this.

“No need to hold me now.”

Xie Yingnian pulled back slightly, putting a little distance between them. She used a brush of a kiss on Zhong Jia’s lips as bait—touching and then withdrawing—leaving the girl with bound hands to tilt her head up in pursuit.

Once, twice, she teased without mercy. Not giving a proper kiss, just drawing annoyed, frustrated grunts from Zhong Jia. A smile gathered at the corners of Xie Yingnian’s eyes. Finally, she waited in place, meeting the other’s eager kiss, then effortlessly took control of this long-overdue intimacy.

Of course, she knew that if she let go now, she’d get a kitten clinging to her sleeve, whispering her name with eyes full of longing. A very worthwhile trade.

But she also knew exactly why she’d agreed to meet so quickly.

Punishment and reward were distinct. Just because she wanted it, did that mean she had to give it?

Who allowed you to tell others you like them in front of me?

Zhong Jia’s spine turned to jelly. She squinted her eyes in distress. Her white suit jacket slipped from her rounded shoulders, her breathing syncing with the rhythm of the kisses. After the last time, she’d learned on her own how to turn the tables.

Zhong Jia was coming to understand more and more that Xie Yingnian couldn’t resist the temptations she offered either.

Her voice soft, almost coquettish—a word Zhong Jia had never imagined applying to herself—she called out again: “Xie Yingnian…”

The other woman’s lashes lowered halfway, casting a shadow over her eyelids that hid her emotions. Xie Yingnian said, “Call me again.”

Zhong Jia’s ears burned. She bit her lip, suppressing her shyness and discomfort, and called out once more in an even softer tone.

“Mm, that sounds nice.” Xie Yingnian finally released her hands, gently brushing aside Zhong Jia’s sweat-dampened bangs.

After a long wait, the fine, dense kisses on her neck finally stopped too. It seemed that was all she intended to give.

…

The woman who thought she still hadn’t learned her lesson stepped closer, rubbing lightly and carelessly before pulling away again just as quickly. Zhong Jia let out a immediate whimper.

There was now extra weight in the hollow of her shoulder. Xie Yingnian looked down at the girl whose legs had gone weak, suddenly lacking confidence. Who exactly had the upper hand here?

She blinked, masking the sudden surge of desire, and tried to steady her voice: “I said, don’t move.”

Zhong Jia buried her face in her shoulder and sniffed. “Did it really sound nice? Then why don’t you want me?”

She deflated all at once, feeling wronged. Her arms hung limply at her sides, weak and unwilling to embrace Xie Yingnian anymore. The lingering warmth on her wrists remained.

Her eyes gradually reddened. More than resentment, her tone carried self-reproach.

She wasn’t like Qiao Yingqiu when it came to coquetry. Back then, the concept of pure desire hadn’t even caught on yet. Her own mother had a sweet-girl face but an innate seductiveness, practically the founder of that style.

Xie Yingnian: “What kind of ‘want’?”

“My ex-girlfriend—that’s what you call me, right?”

Zhong Jia: “It’s the truth.”

She craned her neck to meet Xie Yingnian’s gaze, bracing as if to say, fine, punish me again for this awful title.

But her gamble went in the wrong direction. Thinking she had the upper hand was like punching cotton. Xie Yingnian sighed inwardly and helplessly called her a fool.

“…Am I wrong?” Judging from the other’s expression, Zhong Jia grew uncertain again.

For so long, Xie Yingnian’s thoughts could only be guessed at. The edges of her emotions that leaked out were the parts she openly showed the world—approachable, indifferent to material things, especially cold toward relationships…

In all the big and small clashes, Zhong Jia had grown familiar with her peculiar expressions, slowly discovering flaws in the mask she wore on her face. She took secret pride in being the breeze that exposed those flaws.

But the sensations of immersion weren’t always accurate.

Like that time in the car, when Zhong Jia had blurted out her pieced-together speculations, solemnly asking Xie Yingnian, “Do you have some really weird fetish or something?”

After saying it, she felt it wasn’t polite and wanted to backtrack, to make clear she wasn’t judging and was willing to learn about whatever it was for her sake.

…

From her neck to her face, red as if it might drip blood, Zhong Jia turned her head away. She pulled open Xie Yingnian’s expensive jacket, hiding her embarrassed heart inside, and mumbled, “Then don’t hit me anymore…”

Xie Yingnian: “Make up for the past.”

“Hm?” Zhong Jia hummed questioningly through her nose, not quite understanding.

The pressure eased, and Xie Yingnian gently rubbed the sore spot that had spoken out of turn: “Drinking too much, smoking—Zhou Chun always tells me to keep you in check.”

Zhong Jia recalled that she’d been “raised” by Xie Yingnian too. Just minutes ago, they’d been doing that kind of thing. She tucked her chin in uncomfortably, thinking that if Qiao Yingqiu were still alive, forget her butt—even her legs might not be safe.

“Did you get the cake I ordered for your birthday?” Xie Yingnian added. “When you turned eighteen.”

Eighteen? Zhong Jia froze completely. She poked her head out from under the clothes like a groundhog, breathing fresh air and piecing together the memory. She let out a sudden “Ah!” of realization: “No wonder the security uncle said some delivery guy was looking for me.”

Late self-study for Qingyuan First Middle School’s senior year went until ten. Her phone had died early, and she only charged it back at the dorm. Days later, picking up mail at the guard post, the fifty-something security guard spotted the name on the log and called after the girl who was turning to leave: “You’re Zhong Jia?”

His accent was thick, not local to Clear Origin. Zhong Jia stopped and listened carefully, figuring out the gist. But she didn’t pay it much mind. She was used to no one caring about her and never imagined it might be a birthday cake—assuming the delivery was just misaddressed.

So it really had been a surprise.

“Xie Yingnian, you used to be my guardian. Now you’re my girlfriend. You clearly like me, so why did we break up?” Zhong Jia murmured in her ear.

Behind the necessity lay a carefully laid trap. Xie Yingnian stroked the girl’s sweat-soaked hair: “Cainran told you. I’m sick, and it’s incurable.”

Incurable.

Her calm voice made Zhong Jia’s heart ache unbearably. The next day, she went to Jincheng—from south to north, high-speed rail to plane, then another bumpy bus ride.

Wonderful Cloud Temple nestled amid lush greenery, incense smoke thick with devotees tossing coins into the merit box as a token of sincerity—seeking career success, family harmony, realized dreams.

Zhong Jia followed the line of pilgrims ascending the steps on their knees. Her reflection staggered; her knees still bore scrapes from days before. She limped forward without hesitation and knelt on the ancient, storied stairs.

“What did you pray for?” Xie Yingnian noticed her own voice tightening. She felt heartbroken.

Her waist was embraced. Zhong Jia rested her chin on her shoulder, smiling contentedly: “I prayed for your safety.”

“Maybe sincerity works wonders. I met Mengcan there. I begged him to let you live longer, take my health instead, and stop using the ‘incurable illness’ excuse to fool me.”

Fool, you’re thinking wrong again. It’s not that illness. Xie Yingnian touched the corner of her eye: “Why tell me only after asking?”

Zhong Jia tilted her chin up and kissed the deeply furrowed spot between her brows: “I don’t want you to come back and get back together out of gratitude. That wouldn’t be love.”

“I want you to truly love me.”